Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The slow autumn rain padded against the hotel windows with an underlining blare of roaring thunder, the sound of Harry and Niall playing Mario Kart hummed in the background of Zayn's ears as he flipped though the last chapter of his novel — The Secret History by Donna Tartt. He gazes out of the window, overlooking the dark quiet French town, and finds himself lost in thought anticipating the events soon to come.

It had been a long time since he went to a proper good party — not just a fancy meet up with higher ups and disgustingly bitter wine — an actual party, with people he knows, good music and conversations. Just good vibes overall. 

His old mate from school, Arthur, had moved back to France after their last year of school. They were good mates, known each other since year 10 when he first moved to Bradford. Arthur had barely any English under his belt, and had sat next to Zayn in form, who had his head lost doodling in his sketchbook. 

They clicked instantly.

And kept in as much contact as they could — since Zayn joined the band and Arthur started uni — still speaking constantly. 

So, they were on tour in France, and when they were in the same place at the same time Zayn would make plans to meet and catch up during the band's down time. Arthur had brought up that he was having a Halloween party while his parents were away on a work trip, the same night they had off.

It seemed to line up perfectly.

Normally on Halloween he and the boys would stay in and watch movies, or he and Louis would go to some random club and sloshed.

But this year was going to be different…

He had heard Aj talk all about his ‘fantastic’ parties, constantly being told he was missing out and replayed details about Arthur's crazy night. So maybe anticipating was an understatement... 

He was flat out exhilarated.

His train of thought was interrupted by his hotel door flinging open. He looked across his room, leaning his head against the window, to see Louis and Liam entering.

This wasn’t an odd thing for them. They got used to each other's company overtime — with their job it was easier to be with each other than to be completely alone. Consequently, meeting up in Zayn’s (And Liam’s if they were sharing) became an unspoken ritual between the five of them. 

“That line was so long,” Louis says, dragging out his vowels. He hazardously throws a stack of pizza boxes onto the coffee table.

Liam follows close behind him, with two black bags in hand seeming to carry drinks and cups.

“Yes! I'm starving, man!” Niall exclaims, while opening one of the boxes. The smell instantly fills up the room, smoke floating up into the air.

“When are you not?” Harry laughs as his boyfriend plops down next to him on the coach. 

The room fills up with their quiet chatter and the sound of a movie Niall put on to watch while he eats. Zayn goes back to his book, not feeling so hungry. 

“Zee,”.

He looks up at the familiar nickname, to find Liam holding an empty plastic plate. 

“You not hungry?”.

He shakes his head, and turns back to the window and closes his eyes. Letting his forehead fall against the cold glass.

A couple minutes later, he feels a shift of weight in front of his feet. He opens his eyes and finds Liam sitting next to him on the window bed. Seemingly unsatisfied with his answer.

Zayn tips his head forward and takes a second to use the opportunity to just look at the other boy for a minute. 

Liam's hair is tucked into a black backwards cap. His low set eyebrows scrunched above his warm questioning hazel orbs. He turns to sit up mirroring Zayn’s position, hunching in as if he is afraid of taking up too much space. He looks out the window, dark brown lashes wisping over his cheek, giving Zayn a view of his sharp cut jawline. He crosses his arms and Zayn drinks in his tatted biceps bulging up, chest clad in a black T-shirt. 

Liam looks back up at Zayn.

A pink tint splays across his cheeks after looking up to find himself in the older boy's burning gaze.

“Erm” He brings a fist up to his face and clears his throat with tightly closed lips. “You- You sure you're not hungry?”

“Yeah, caught a bite with my mate earlier” Zayn replies, pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. 

It's quite cold, he thinks, maybe he should turn up the heating.

“Mate?” Liam repeats, dropping his head down, letting it hang. “I swear you know someone like, everywhere we go” He laughs but Zayn notices his eyebrows are scrunching slightly and his smile isn't quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah, babe. Just an old friend…”

“Friend…” Liam hums, tilting his head against the window. 

His hardened stare zones in on Zayn.

Zayn suddenly felt the hairs on his neck stand up, so he turned his head back to the same view he had been looking out at all night.

“Yeah, met in school… Actually, you wanna come to his halloween party with me? We have the night off and nothing planned for the next day.” He looks back to find Liam’s had expression softened, and finds himself grinning at the sight. “How about it?’.

Liam’s hand comes up from the previously crossed position, and wraps nervously around his neck. “I don't know… Thought we were all gonna stay in like last year.”

“Yeah, no.” Zayn shakes his head. “Come on, we could go with all the boys, make a proper night out of it.”

“I don’t…” Liam looks over to the couch across the room where their band members sat.

“For me?, Please.” Zayn tilts his head down, looking up at the boy through his eyelashes, all while slightly pouting his bottom lip, hoping that it will be enough to convince his best friend.

And when Liam looks back at him, his cheeks coat in that same rose shade. 

The same shade Zayn had grown to love so much.

“Okay, fine…”

“Get in!’ Zayn exclaims, a wide tooth smile coating his face. 

Zayn gets up suddenly and begins to walk to the centre of the suite where the couch lays, seemingly to tell the rest of the lads about his friend's party. 

Liam watched him walk away, feeling his ears begin to heat up, and thought to himself...

Fuck.

Chapter Text

So.

Liam Payne was completely and utterly, head over heels in love with Zayn Malik. 

Yes, love.

He understands it may be seen as a bold claim, and or, an overly dramatic choice of words. 

But he is in love.

He knew not because the feeling was familiar, no. Quite the opposite actually. Liam had never felt like this before. 

That's why he knew.

He doesn't remember the exact moment he knew, not really anyway. But he remembers all the little things adding up. 

Like the way he would think of him, even when he wasn't around.

It was like suddenly Zayn was everywhere.

Like when earlier today, he saw a woman in a dark purple sweater and his first thought wasn't 'isn't that a nice colour.’ no it was, ‘that's Zayn’s favourite colour, bet he'd look amazing in that.’. Or, when he and Louis stumbled into a quiet secluded bookstore while wandering around, all he could think of was Zayn if he should buy him a book. (Which he did, only in hopes of seeing that smile on his face).

Zayn was in the graffiti on the walls, the gummy bears on the shelves, and most of all. 

In Liam’s head… 

No.

Liam’s heart.

And it wasn't just a brain thing, no its full body experience. It's in the way his cheeks subconsciously heat up when he's stuck under Zayn's warm gaze. It’s in the way his body gravitates toward the other boy’s in any given room. It's in the way his finger tingles to touch, to feel. But also how his skin burns when Zayn reaches towards him, feeling as if all his nerve ends are on fire.

He had felt this way since the day he met Zayn in that crappy McDonalds, at first he coughed it up to him having an admiration towards the older boy but as time went on his feeling only grew more, and more unbearable.

So, he tried to combat them by dating.

Dumb…? Yeah, he knows that now.

Did he actually like any of his girlfriends? Yes, totally. 

And the thing is he really, truly thought he could make it work. But in the end his heart only wanted one thing. 

Or person, more like.

It had all changed when Zayn came out to him. Even though he had promised the exact opposite, that it would change nothing.

You see, up until that blazing summer's morning, it just was a crush. A distant dream, something totally out of reach. Something he would never get. Because Zayn was straight.

Or so he thought…

That morning had started off like any other.

It was early.

Niall was eating breakfast on the couch in front of the TV, Liam sitting on the other end. Harry and Louis eating and quietly chatting on the kitchen island on the other side of the room.

Lost in their own world, as always.

Liam had looked out the backyard window to see Zayn silhouette sat on the porch swing, seemingly lost in thought. 

He remembers sliding the glass door, and the feeling of his sock clad feet against the cold wooden planks.

He remembers sitting down next to the pondering boy in comfortable silence.

He remembers Zayn's stance. The way his eyebrows were scrunched in deep thought, his teeth pulling against his bottom lip, and his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shorts.

“Can I- I tell you something?” Is what Zayn said when he finally broke the silence.

“Anything.” Liam remembers saying. 

And he remembers meaning it.

He remembers Zayn giving him a once over.

“i think- no i know, i like boys.” He remembers the other boy confessing out quietly.

And he remembers the silents after.

Remember saying something along the lines of “i still love you dude, this would never change us i swear. You’ll always be my best mate.” while pulling the other into a tight embrace. 

And he remembers and remembers and remembers…

Because he doesn't think he could quite ever forget.

So maybe you could say it was then. 

Maybe you could say that was the moment Liam Payne had realised he was completely and utterly, head over heels in love with Zayn Malik. 

Or maybe it was about to hit one AM and he should really be getting some sleep…

Yet he continues to look up at the dark ceiling above until he feels a buzz under his head.

Which causes him to reach down under his pillow for his phone. He promptly shuts his eyes when he first opens his phone as the merciless white light blinds him.

In search for the source of the buzz, his phone vibrates in his hands again causing him to tighten his grip. He glances up to the top of his phone to read the notification that pops down.

‘wake up’ is what it says… From Zayn?

He decides to open the rest of the chat to see what he might have missed.

[Zayn :D : Hey Li, you up?] 

[Zayn :D : wake upp!]

Liam finds himself smiling and shimmying under the covers to muffle the sounds of Niall’s snoring across the room. And he types out a reply. 

[Me : Yes yes, i’m up noww. wsp?]

A reply loads in soon after.

[Zayn :D : Can’t sleep dude. Too much to doo. Like I still don't know what to wear to the party :( ]

There it is again, the party… 

Zayn has been nonstop talking about it since he convinced the boys to come along with him and Liam. It was costume only, but lucky they still had a couple days to pull together their outfits. Liam had listened to Zayn talk about it even while the other boys were telling him to shut up during the movie. 

But it wasn't just the party he was talking about, it was this mysterious Arthur character too. Or ‘Aj’ who he constantly referred to him as. Liam had listened to him gush all night about their childhood memories, nights in Aj’s treehouse, their first house parties… All of it.

And the more he listened the more his stomach felt as if it was twisting inside of him and-

His thoughts were interrupted when his phone buzzed again.

[Zayn :D : Come over, please?]

“What?” He spoke out loud in a hushed tone. Because what?? Liam feels the tips of his ears burning as he types out his reply.

[Me : What?]

[Zayn :D : Come onnnn, it's not like we have to be up early. Plus you can help me with my costume!!]

Liam hesitated before typing out a rushed.

[Me : Okay.]

Carefully steps out of bed, so as not to wake up his roommate, Liam moves quietly around the suite. But to be honest there could be a natural disaster going on outside and Liam is sure Niall wouldn't even stir.

He slips on his Adidas slides and throws on a hoodie too. Walks up to the coffee table, takes one of the key cards, and shoves it into his pocket. 

After successfully tiptoeing out the room he feels his phone buzz on last time.

[Zayn :D : Doors unlocked ;) ]

A crimson tide surges over his cheeks, yet again. 

Damn, he has got to get it together.

When he gets to Zayn’s door, it opens as promised, causing the warm light to spill into the  empty darkness of the hotel corridor.

He promptly walks in, deciding if he stays here any longer he'll psych himself out and end up going back to his room.

The door creaks as he opens it wider. Stepping to the room his ears pick up on the faint hum of the heaters, causing him to instantly feel hot. Liam closes the door behind him and steps inside fully, taking in the scene in front of him. 

Zayn's feet are the first thing he sees, crossed over each other, clad in a pair of black socks. He leans against the wall and lets his eyes trail up. Zayn’s laptop is in this lap, his fingers typing fast and smoothly over the keys, filling the room up with the velvety sound of soft clicking. He's wearing a navy hoodie that looks too big to be his, which shouldn't be odd because half the shit Zayn wears on tour isn't his. But under further inspection Liam recognises it to be his hoodie. This fact alone sends a fluttering sensation into the depths of his stomach. 

Liam thinks about the tattoos that lay underneath as he finally looks up to the boy's face. Zayn is wearing his thick black framed glasses, something he ritually does late at night.

His cheeks bones pop out in the soft light and his dark eyebrows frown deep in concentration. His raven coloured hair sprays hazardously across his forehead poking out from where it tucked into the hood of his hoodie… 

Did Liam ever mention Zayn is handsome?

No, wait. Handsome understatement, beautiful more like?

Breathtaking.

He's the type of person you look back at, after passing in the street. The type of guy you would see front and centre or like, a Vogue magazine. The type of guy whose looks could mesmerise any-

“You plan on standing there ‘nd staring at me all night, or actually coming over here?” He says softly. So softly Liam probably wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't looking at the other so intensely.  

It's as if Zayn’s voice trails up his spine causing him to shiver and the hairs on his neck to stand up. 

Liam brings his hands to cover his already redding face, and groans softly. 

His legs carry him towards Zayn’s impossibly huge bed. 

Though it now feels to be shrinking as he climbs on it.

He mirrors Zayn’s position closely, crossing his arms over his chest, sitting close enough so it doesn't look like he's purposely pulling away.

They seem to sit in this position for what feels like forever, Liam being close enough to feel the heat radiating off of Zayn as he seems to be oblivious continually typing on his keyboard in silence.

So, Liam closes his eyes and listens to the clicking of Zayn’s keys as the tension draws out of his shoulders. 

He feels a warm pointy weight drop onto his shoulder, and doesn't have to open his eyes to know it's Zayn’s chin. 

He suddenly feels hyper aware of everything. God, he hopes Zayn can't feel the way his heart rate has picked up slightly or the way his breathing has become more rigid and rapid.

He can feel the exact moment Zayn lets out a warm content sounding sigh because of the way his breath brushes against his already flushed neck and he silently hopes Zayn’s eyes aren't open. He can also feel when Zayn turns his head because now it's the top of his hood rubbing against his neck.

“i love you, dude.”

The whispered words from the other man cause a lump to build his throat. His palms grow sweaty and his tongue suddenly feels all too big for his mouth.

Because he knew, he they would never mean it in the same way.

Because Zayn’s love was safe. 

Platonic. Brotherly even.

And Liam’s was too dangerous.

Too much. Too intense.

He couldn't trust his words to hold up for him, so he leans his own head on top of Zayn's and attempts to let out the most normal sounding hum as his vocal cords feel to be closing up. 

Because Liam Payne was completely and utterly, head over heels in love with Zayn Malik. 

And it was going to kill him…

Chapter Text

As the morning sun rose into view, Liam slowly gained consciousness of his senses. 

And there was something in particular he could feel, in the still morning air.

Warmth…?

It was odd. It being late October and all, but Liam was too comfortable to question it. Making the easy decision to lay in for a couple more minutes of ignorant bliss.

That was up until he felt a soft groan come from his chest.

What the fuck? He thought to himself. Because Liam was ninety nine percent sure he didn't make that sound, and one hundred percent sure pillows couldn't verbally communicate… 

So, what was that?

He, finally, decides to follow the logical part of his brain and opens his left eye to peek at the scene around him. 

He was in a bed of sorts, sheets white and soft. But it didn't look like the single from his room with Niall.

No, this was different.

Feeling a pressure pushing into his chest, he reluctantly looks down.

He's met with the sight of dark jet lashes in a spray contrasting golden sun-kissed brown skin.

Zayn.

Zayn, who is currently seems to be trying to run his head into Liam's chest, like a rhino headbutting to mark its territory. Letting out soft puffs of sallow air as he chases the warmth of Liam's chest in the cold autumn morning.

It's short lived, but Liam feels it all. Every sleep driven attempt to get even closer than they already were.

As if that's possible.

Because when Liam fully takes in the gravity of the position they currently lay in, it seems as if the walls are closing in and suddenly there isn't any air in the room left for him.

He promptly snaps his eyes shut.

It's hard really to feel it all.

Mostly because he isn't sure where Zayn's limbs end and his begin.

But what he can feel is the way their legs are contorted and tangled together. What he can feel is Zayn chest moving against his, in shallow deep breaths. He can feel Zayn’s tight grip on his waist, holding Liam in place.

He can feel the way they slot together perfectly, like two pieces from a historical puzzle. 

Like it was meant to be. Set in stone.

Like the clouds in the sky, the moon and the stars.

And yet, just because his eyes were closed, it couldn't mean he could hide.

Because with his nose inches away from the other man's head, he's cursed by the faint smell of Zayn’s strawberry shampoo filling his lungs. Heart aching with every inhale.

Because the soft rise and fall of Zayn’s chest should be comforting, but it instead feels like a blunt knife stabbing against at his already bruised heart.

Because, every logical instinct in his body was screaming, demanding him to move, run, do something! But his body refused – and deep down, he knew why.

This was everything he has ever wanted.

He knew if he woke up like this every morning – to the soft sound of Zayn's snores – his life would be complete and he could live in everlasting bliss.

But that wasn't how life worked.

Not his at least.

Eyes lazily following the slope of his nose, which tips up faintly at the end, down to his partially chapped plumped pink lips. That part as he exhales, slow and lethargic.

His fingers instinctively curl from where his right hand sits tangled in Zayn’s locs (his left gone numb under the weight of the other boy), as finds himself once again lost in thought. They scratch Zayn's head ever so slightly but the drowsy man seems to feel it enough because he lets out a grunted “Mmm..” . Followed with a full body shiver that Liam can feel this close to him. The feeling causes something vaguely warm to build up inside of Liam.

But before he has any time to try and name the feeling Zayn is shifting his head back against Liam’s hand, mouth slightly downturned. Liam feels his chest tighten as he impulsively repeats the same sloppy curl of his fingers.

Liam feels as if every move, every scratch and every breath is risky, like walking on an old tightrope waiting for it to snap. 

Because the snap was inevitable.

Zayn was going to wake up. Or at least more than he was right now, with that somnolent grin painted across his face. 

Liam knew Zayn was going to wake up and realise it was Liam who was scratching his head like he was some fucking cat, and it was Liam who he was entangled right now, and it was Liam who…

Liam who’s in love with him.

Liam who-

“hmm, you're staring again” Zayn says, sluggish voice coated in sleep. 

Liam felt himself freezing as Zayn tips his chin up slightly and squints his eyes against the growing morning sunlight.

“You always stare…” He says removing one of his hands from Liam's waist to itch his sleep crusted eyes. And Liam finds he instantly misses the warmth, feeling the phantom ghost of it in it’s absences.

“You sleep well, loser?” His voice still sounds groggy and like he is using up every ounce of energy he can muster to ask Liam how he slept.

“Never better.” Liam tries to go for casual as he speaks, but instead the words come out sounding forced.

>>>>>

Things started to wind down as they normally did after a long day of rehearsals. 

The boys were spread out across the green room, patiently awaiting for their ride back to the hotel to pull up. Harry and Louis giggling at the screen of Louis’s phone on the couch, sat comfortably close together. Niall softly picks something on his guitar at the feet of them, all while Liam sits next to him and scrolls aimlessly on his phone. Zayn, notably missing from the room.

Probably having a smoke, Liam thinks to himself.

He hears the doorknob rustle and doesn't even have to look up to know. Because he feels it — the familiar pull in his chest, automatic, like his heart alone can recognise Zayn's presence.

And this thought seems to be proven right as the room door swings open, revealing a sniffling Zayn, his nose reddened from the cold.

“Oi, car’s outside” Is all Zayn says before disappearing away from the door.

The rest of the boys get up, and they all file out the room.

As soon as they step out the building, they’re bombarded with the ever growing shrieks from teenage girls and the occasional blinding flash of a camera.

Liam throws on a picture perfect smile and waves in no particular direction towards the crowd, and looks over his shoulder to find Harry and Zayn doing the same.

You see all of this has become routine for them. Over exaggerated smiles, and charming laughs after they leave whatever place they had been in for that day. Met with a crowd no matter what odd time of day it was. In today's instance they had the rest of the evening off, but Liam knew what unspoken routine took place then as well.

Hotel, shower, food, and then hang out in one of their rooms until sleep won over.

So when they all finally get in the mini van, Lou and Niall in front and Haz sitting in between Liam and Zayn in the back, it didn't surprise him when the conversation started to drift off to where they should eat that night.

Harry leans forward, in arms waving sporadically as he debates with Niall.

But Liam isn't paying any attention to the scene in front of him. Instead his eyes seem to find the same person they’ve always found all these years.

Zayn.

Yet, Zayn isn't looking back at him. Sharing a quiet smirk like they normally do in moments like this.

He's not smiling at Liam because he's already smiling at something else.

His phone.

Liam leans back against the car seats as he takes in Zayn's hunched view. His fingers fastly typing across the screen, just like they had typed on his keyboard last night, with practiced ease.

His bottom lip caught in his teeth, like he's trying to stifle his laughter. 

And Liam doesn't have to wonder who he could be texting with such hurried urgency. No, because he knows.

It's Arthur.

And since the first moment Zayn had told him about his friend, they were all filled up with the sound of Zayn's unbearable giggles or chatter. Well, no. It wasn't the sound that caused the feeling of nausea at the back of his throat. It was the reason. Because the sound of Zayn’s laughter, which he loved so much, wasn't due to him whispering an unfunny dad joke into his ear or making a silly face at him across the room. No, Zayn laughed like that because of something Aj had texted him, or a meme he had forwarded to him.                                                                                                                      Zayn’s chatter wasn't about a book he insisted on trying to convince Liam to read, or them having a playful debate about superheros. No, because Zayn only seemed to be talking about Arthur and their memories together.

And, frankly, he was sick.

Liam was sick of hearing that name coming from the other man's mouth. The word caused his stomach to violently churn inside of him, heat cording his veins.                And he found himself wondering. When was the last time Zayn had laughed at something he said like that? When-

“Liam, you want to, right?” Harry calls out to him, interrupting his musing.

“What?” He replies confused, ripping his eyes away from Zayn to be met with a burning emerald stare.

Harry's lips frown slightly, and he leans back against the chair. He glances at Zayn while doing so and then back at Liam, his lips pulling down deeper. The worry in his eyes easily recognizable as Liam follows Harry's gaze to Louis.

So he does the smart thing and avoids both of their stares. Looking up at Niall who seems to be the safest option right now.

The bleach haired boy lets out a shallow sigh before explaining “Me ‘nd Lou want to go out to eat, Harry wants to stay in, and since Zayn’s going out. So, you're tie breaker, Payno.”

His ears catch attention to the words carefully slotted in the middle. And all he says is “Out?” while turning his head back in Zayn's direction.

Zayn doesn't even bother looking up from his phone as he responds back with “Yeah… Aj wants to show me around a bit”

“I’m sure he does.” 

The words slip out sharp, small and pathetic. He doesn't even realise he's said it until after. A heavy loaded silence follows. Then Liam looks away to see Louis and Harry sharing yet another undecryptable glance.

Zayn seems to not have heard, or simply doesn't care enough to reply. So Liam looks back up at Niall who also appears to be oblivious to the current situation and sends him a tight nod.

“Yeah, sure. Let's eat out” 

Liam could do with some fresh air anyways.

Chapter Text

Dinner came and passed by.

They went to eat at a quiet secluded Kabab restaurant, and had a relatively good time surrounded by flavourful food and conversation.

Liam, honestly, couldn’t tell you what he ate or what they talked about though. Mostly because he kept finding his eyes subconsciously drifting across the table to where Zayn would be sat… 

Anyways.

After dinner the boys split into two groups. Harry and Niall making their way back to the hotel claiming to both be ‘knackered’ after all day long rehearsals and writing sessions, while Louis states he wanted to see more of the beautiful city before they had to leave for the next stop in the tour, dragging Liam along with him before he has anytime to refuse.

So, that’s how he finds himself here, walking aimlessly around the centre of Paris. Looking down at his feet as he walks, avoiding people while conversing with Lou. They walked around for about 30 mins, talking about everything and nothing, until they’ve made it.

You see Louis had been looking up spots and clubs to visit with Zayn when he stumbled across a “beautiful" spot. Liam only knows this because 15 mins into the walk he asked where they were going.

“Woah…”

Liam turns his head away from his shoes up to see what Louis was gaping at, only to be met with sight of a bright red running track, spotted sparsely with runners and just people sitting on the grass in the middle. Sure, it looked peaceful but it was hardly a breathtaking view. In the mists of his confusion he turns to Lou as lets out a hushed “What?”

Louis rotates his head, locking his sky blue eyes with Liam’s and shoots him a playful grin before elbowing Liam sharply in the stomach. Causing him to groan and hunch down in pain.

“Look up Payno!" He suggests, his voice muffled with laughter. 

Liam's eyes closed, still waiting for the pain to subside. Then he straightens up and does as he’s told. 

And finds himself repeating the same phrase “Woah” as he gawks up at the dark night sky, the golden gleaming Eiffel Tour illuminating the night. The Tour stood impossibly close, rising out of the darkness. Liam looked at the scene around him, the park famed by the quiet athletic fields and the shadowed trees, felt almost poetic in the moment. Each glowing beam gleamed pulsing with a kind of living warmth that seemed to ripple through the night.

Kind of reminding him of Zayn.

Suddenly, a shimmer swept across its frame — the lights beginning to sparkle, tens of thousands of tiny flashes igniting all at once. It was as though the iron giant had inhaled the city’s energy and was exhaling it in glittering bursts.

The sound of distant laughter drifted over through the air, mingling with the hum of traffic and the rhythmic splashes he could hear coming from the indoor pool behind him. 

He felt suspended between two worlds.

The grounded simplicity of the runners running in hushed rushed steps at his feet, and the dreamlike grandeur towering above him. In that moment, standing there under the starlit Paris sky, the Eiffel Tower didn’t just seem like a monument; it felt alive, breathing light and history into the darkness. And for a fleeting second, the whole world seemed to fall into silence. 

“Keep looking at your feet, and you’ll miss the miracles happening around you. Payne.” He hears, whispered next to him.

He moves again to turn his head to Louis but before he can even complete the movement he hears a loudly spoken “LI!”

There’s only one person who can call him that without him feeling the immediate need to physically cringe, it instead sends a familiar fluttering sensation into his stomach. 

He spins his neck so fast at the sound of this homely nickname, he feels as if he may have given himself whiplash. And is met with the sight of the one and only Zayn Malik smiling a couple feet away in Liam’s and Louis’s direction. 

He’s dressed in black jeans, and plain black Tee paired with his signature leather jacket. Yet Liam’s eyes catch on an out of place brown-skinned arm slung over his bandmate’s shoulder…

His eyes trail along the arm until they settle upon an unfamiliar face. The other man is smiling and talking fast as they walk over, and time seems to still until the pair of them finally reach both of them.

Zayn comes to an abrupt stop in front of them, the other man standing close behind. 

“Didn’t think we were going to bump into you two here.” Zayn says all while the other next to him keeps talking in an inaudible hushed tone. He eventually comes to a stop when he realizes Zayn isn't particularly listening to him anymore.

He looks up, his eyes catching Liams for a second, and he lets out a hushed “C’est qui?” in Zayn's direction.

Zayn steps to the side, with the purpose of letting his fellow bandmates come into better view. 

“Louis and Liam” He replies looking over his shoulder.

Louis smiles, and nods his head up slightly as the taller man frames over him.

“Hiya mate, I’m Louis.” Louis sticks his hand out to the other man, offering it for a handshake. 

“Arthur” The other man — Arthur speaks up, taking Louis’ hand into a welcoming handshake.

Oh!

Finally, Liam gets to put a face to the name. He looks up taking a quiet second to study his face while Lou talks to Zayn about… He's not sure what actually.

Arthur is relatively tall, hovering above Zayn and Lou but standing roughly around the same height as Liam. His hair is a sponged mini afro, his eyebrows lay thick and slow set above his deep brown eyes. A silver chain hangs at his neck, gleaming in the soft Paris lights.

He’s… Not bad-looking.

But then the conversation comes to a slow pause and they all look at Liam expectantly, he takes it as his cue to introduce himself. 

He looks down to find Arthur’s hand out directed towards him.

“Liam” He states pointing to himself, wanting to keep as much physical distance from the other as possible.

But Arthur, seeming oblivious to Liam's chipped demeanour, replies with “Enchante, Liam” a glowing smile spreading across his face. 

Liam would like to say he remembers some French after learning it for so many years in school but the truth is he doesn't recognize what's being said to him.

The confusion must show on his face because Aj turns to Zayn, who simply says “no French, dude”. Arthur lets out an ‘oh’ sounding sigh as his shoulders hike up a tad.

Arthur reaches the hand up, scratching the back of his neck, and glances between the three of them before his lips quirk up into a small grin. 

“Louis, yeah” He says the man's name thick and accented. “You French?”. He asks, voice light with curiosity.

Louis laughs — that sharp, effortless laugh that could make ice thaw.

“Nah, mate. Just blessed with a fancy name and a northern accent.”

Arthur grins wider. “Shame,” he says. Then his eye gleam with a cheeky glamor “Je parie que tu briserais encore plus de cœurs.” 

Liam, who knows Louis failed French in school, looks at him expecting to see him as confused as Liam feels. But instead all he is met with is Louis signature charismatic smile as he replies “Whatever he said, I'll take it.” shrugging his shoulders. 

Zayn huffs out a laugh, that makes Liam's ears smile, and shakes his head. 

“He’s flirting with you, lad.”

Louis clutches his chest dramatically.

“Finally, someone who has taste!”

The three of them seem to be engaging in friendly conversation, leaving Liam to feel as if he’s watching the scene play out in front of him.

The way Louis has Arthur laughing like they’ve known each other for years, being his normal charming self, and Zayn translating every so often when Aj looks at him confused by Louis words.

It all feels like it's happening around him and not with him.

Partly he knows it because he's choosing not to engage in conversation, but that’s only because he can't seem to rip his gaze off Arthur's arm. 

His arm which is still hung around Zayn’s shoulder. It looks natural. Like it belongs.

And Liam supposes it does. With all that Zayn’s told him, they have a seemingly strong bond. 

Hell, Arthur knew Zayn before Liam ever did.

So, logically Liam knows he has no right to feel this… jealous. Jealous over something that isn't his. Someone. Someone who has been his.

And never will be.

Yet, this knowledge does nothing to stop the loud thudding in his chest. The feeling of static prickling his skin. The taste of iron in the back of his throat — the kind that came with swallowing back bitter words. The feeling that every laugh between them was landing tiny punches into his ribs. 

Arthur seems to notice his burning gaze because — after what feels like an eternity — he promptly stuffs hand into his pocket but not before whispering to Zayn “Il est protecteur, ton ami.”. These words cause Zayn to dart his gaze towards Liam, his brows scrunching a tad — so imperceptible Liam would have missed it if he wasn’t watching the two interact so intently.

But he didn’t.

Louis must have though because he just keeps talking as if nothing had happened.

Liam takes this as his hint to check into the conversation.

So, he laughs at the right times, because that's what he's supposed to do, but it feels more like baring teeth then smiling. And he tells himself to ignore the way he notices Zayn leans in when Aj talks. Because he shouldn’t.

But he does.

His fingers ball up into fists, covered up where they lay stuffed in his pockets.

They all seem to notice when people start to file out the park, and Arthur explains “Euh, it closes after ten in night” his accent curling smoothly around the words.

They walk to the park's exit together, Zayn tells them that they split off here because “the Metro’s in the other direction". He throws his thumb back over his shoulder.

“I am spending the night at Aj’s” He explains to the pair of confused faces in front of him.

Liam lets out a short laugh that doesn’t quite fit the moment. “Guess we can let him steal you for tonight.” Louis nods along and tells Zayn with a soft smile “Just don’t be late to rehearsals, yeah? You know how Paul gets.”

Zayn shakes his head while laughing. “Yeah, I won’t.”

Then Arthur pipes up “It was nice to see you both.” He says, smiling friendly. So wide and so bright, it almost makes Liam feel guilty for feeling as threatened as he does.

His hand comes back up to the back of his neck. “Euh, J’espère bien vous croiser à la fête, hein” He says, looking back at Zayn willing him to translate. 

Which he does telling Liam and Lou Aj hopes to see them at the party. 

Louis fills the silence by saying “You’ll definitely hear us before you see us.” and winks, which sends them all into a quiet steam of giggles.

Though Liam's laughter comes out sounding forced. Scripted.

They exchange hush goodbyes and Lou and him watch them walk into the direction of the Metro’s infamous descending staircase, Arthur arm making its journey back around Zayn.

Something twists in Liam's chest — entirely familiar.

That fucking arm. 

>>>>>

Liam leans his head against the car window. Despite them being tinted, he can still see people bundled in various coats walking around in the streets. The streetlights painting them all a faint golden yellow colour. The lights spread onto Liam's face too, as he watches the blur of Paris go by. 

Louis is sitting sideways next to him, tapping his finger on his knee, humming to whatever song is playing low on the radio. He watches Liam stare out the window — like he’s trying to outrun something invisible. 

The silence that sits between them feels heavier than just air. 

Louis breaks the silence first.

“That Arthur lad’s alright, eh?”

A beat follows.

“Real polite.” He says, “A bit taller than I expected.”

The car fills up with the sound of Louis' quiet chuckling, but it stops as just fast as it began.

Another pregnant silence falls between them.

Liam knows Louis is expecting him to respond, so he finds it in himself to cough up a “Yeah, seems like it.” But the words come out stiff, flat, and when he says them it feels as if he's swallowing shards of glass with every vowel. 

Liam silently hopes Louis is gonna give it up. 

But Liam never gets his way. 

And this time doesn’t prove any different because he hears Louis shift in his seat a little. Then hears the other lad say “What's the face for then? Honestly Payno, didn’t peg you as the jealous type.”

Liam lets his forehead rest on the cold glass before he responds “Just tired.”

All his hopes of Louis having mercy on him and stopping the conversation are put to shreds, as he watches the other lean forward — presumably to see if their driver was paying them any attention. Then closing the divider between the back and the front of the car. 

“You're a shit liar, you know? Especially when it comes to people you care about.”

Liam frowns, his gaze still focused out the window.

“Not sure what that means” is what he says, trying to put an end to the integration but it comes out small. Weak.

Louis exhales through his nose, a soft scoff — not mocking, just knowing.

“Means you looked like someone kicked your puppy back there.”

Another brief pause passes through them.

“When you saw them together.” He adds on.

Liam feels his shoulders hike up and his palms begin to sweat.

“Wasn’t like that.” He states in his weak defence.

“No?” Louis asks gently.

“Cause it looked like that.”

Liam hunches deeper into his seat. 

He wishes he could be anywhere but here. The car suddenly starts feeling hopelessly small. 

“I get it, you know. Wanting something you know you shouldn't.” Louis hums.           

“Hurts in a stupid kind of way.”

Liam knows what he's referring to. 

It definitely wasn't easy for Harry and Louis at the start. 

He would know. He watched it unfold in front of him up until this very moment.

Liam wipes his sweaty palms against the leather seat. His eyes still fixated on the glowing skyline outside.

“Doesn't make you weak,” Louis adds. His hushed voice almost a whisper. “Just makes you human.” 

Liam doesn't say anything. The words ‘just makes you human’ circle around his head as he remains silent. Then he nods once, eyes stinging as Paris keeps flashing by — gold lights, blurred faces, everything too bright to look at for too long. 

The weight of the truth hangs between them.

But Louis presses on.

“We all see it.”

Liam freezes, jaw working.                                                                                           

“See what?” Liam questions, voice still small. Trying to keep it from wavering.

They hit a small bump in the road causing them both to jump a little.                           

“The way you look at him.” Lou responds. He sighs softly, tone dropping into something warmer, quieter.

Liam finally turns to look at him. Something caught between panic and shame paints his face. 

He blinks through stinging eyes. Eyes filled with the tears — the words — that are left unshed.

Louis' gaze meets his, unblinking.

“You love him, don't you…?”

He says it softly, making the words sound almost fond. 

But they still land heavy — like they've been waiting to exist out loud. 

It’s not an accusation. It’s barely even a question.

It’s the quiet acknowledgement of something that has been there all along.

Liam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His hands clench and unclench in his lap, as he desperately tries to ground himself. 

As he desperately tries to remain steady.

Because he needs to.

Louis gaze looks away first, after what feels like an eternity. 

“It’s alright, you don’t have to say it.”

Then he turns towards his window, facing away from Liam for the first time in this seemingly never ending car ride.

“Just… don’t let it eat you alive” The words come out hushed, almost as if he's saying them to himself.

The light from a passing streetlamp drifts across Liam’s face — and in it, Louis catches the faintest shimmer of something breaking.

After a couple minutes of thick silence Louis exhales through his nose, trying to lift the weight that's settled between them.

“You know, if ya keep moping like that, Haz is gonna start trying to 'emotionally heal’ you with crystals again”

This naturally rips a laugh out from Liam. It's short and bittersweet but real.

And as the driver pulls into their hotel parking lot.

Louis puts a hand on his shoulder, forcing them to lock eyes, and gives it a quick squeeze.

“Your goanna be alright lad, trust me.” He says, lips formed in a tight smile.

And for a millisecond. Liam believes him.

>>>>>

The hotel lobby hums around him — the low chatter of guests, the muted shuffle of luggage wheels on marble — but Liam barely registers any of it.

His head's still in the car, somewhere between Louis' word and the way the streetlights kept slicing through the dark.

He mumbles a goodnight in Louis' rough direction and makes it to his room on autopilot.

He steps into the room like he's stepping into someone else's skin. Drops his phone on the nightstand, jacket on the floor, shoes somewhere by the door.

It's too quiet. 

The kind of quiet that lets your thoughts start talking again. 

The only sound in the room being Niall soft blows of air in his sleep.

He stands there chest tight, unsure what to do with himself.

‘Just don't let it eat you alive.’ The words swim in his mind.

As he brushes his teeth he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror — eyes rimmed red, jaw tight. He looks like someone else. 

Someone caught between saying too much and nothing at all.

He doesn't bother turning on the lights as he walks to bed, the peeking city lights directing his path. 

And for what feels like the first time in forever, he exhales.

He eventually finds himself in the same situation he did the night prior. 

Laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with only his thoughts to accompany him.

The vibration startles him.

A single buzz across the sheets.

He thinks about ignoring it — he always does when he's like this — but habit always wins.

It's Zayn.

It's stupid, really. How fast his heat trips over itself at the four letter name.

[Zayn :D : Survived the Metro somehow. You alive? :p]

He lies flat on his back, thumbs running over the sides of his phone.

Louis' words slither back into his mind, repeating a mantra of ‘don't let it eat you alive’ in the back of his mind.

Liam stares at the message for a long beat. His thumb hovering over the screen.

He could ignore it.

He should ignore it. He knows that. After the night he's just had it seems like the healthiest option. His chest is still too tight, his mind still too loud.

But he always replies.

Because it's Zayn.

Zayn's name starts to look wrong unanswered, so Liam finds it within himself to type out a quick

[Me : yeah. barely, lol.]. 

[Zayn :D : Aj’s tryna convince me spiderman is cooler then batman :0. Send help.]

And before Liam can even process that, another message comes through. 

A photo.

It's blurry, the lighting soft and gold. Zayn’s half-smiling at the camera, head tilted, his hair still messy from the night air. Behind him, Arthur’s throwing up a peace sign, two plates of pasta on the coffee table, and a bottle of half finished wine between them.

Liam stares at the screen until it starts to dim. His stomach twists. It's harmless, really. Just a photo, but it feels like a punch to his gut. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard.

[Me : he’s wrong. batman’s cooler. always has been.]

The screen starts to dim again, and right as it's about to shut off a reply comes through.

[Zayn :D : of course he iss. told him batman’s our thing.]

Our thing.

The two words lodge themselves in Liam’s throat.

He doesn't reply this time. The screen fades to black fully and the ghost of his reflection stares back at him. Tired, and heart-sore. 

The silence passes by, thick and heavy.

Then his phone buzzes again.

[Zayn :D : night, Li <33]

Liam gently places his phone on his chest.

He lies there for a minute. 

The city's hum can be heard faintly through the window. Cars, laughter, the muffled pulse of Paris still awake somewhere below.

It all feels miles away.

“Night, Zee.” He whispers into the dark, to no one in particular.

And for a second, he lets himself pretend that this is enough.

Chapter Text

Time flew by.

In between shows and interviews and rehearsals and writing sessions, Liam really didn't have anytime to think.

That was until today, of course.

October 31st.

Halloween. 

Liam wakes up to the pale light dripping through the curtains and the faint hum of Paris waking up outside. Everything feels muffled, soft — except his chest, which feels bruised from everything Louis said. 

It felt like with every passing second the words stuck in his mind would ring louder and louder. Every time Zayn leaned in on stage to whisper to him, his hot breath just barely ghosting Liam's neck. Every time he looked up to already find Zayn staring at him with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes. Every time Zayn gravitated towards him, on stage, in interviews, anywhere really. Every time Zayn touched him, an arm thrown over his shoulder, a guiding hand on the small of his back, subconscious fingers reaching to play with his hair. 

Because every time — without fail — Liam froze, or his breath hitch, and his body tensed as he remembered Louis words. 

“We all see it…” “The way you look at him.”

“You love him, don't you…?”

“Just… don’t let it eat you alive”

Not wanting to be stuck with his endless train of thoughts any longer, he eventually gets out of bed.

Showers too long.

Doesn’t talk much at breakfast.

Zayn sits across from him, half-asleep, stirring sugar into his coffee, hoodie pulled over his disheveled black strands. 

Their eyes meet once.

Liam looks away first.

There’s a meet and greet schedule — fans, cameras, chatter.

By the time they get there all prepped and ready for the cameras, there is a load of screaming girls and seemingly exhausted parents waiting for their arrival. 

Everything moves fast. Mostly because all five of them have done this a million times before. It’s routine. Photo with fans, some signings, then some questions in a QnA — which have been pre approved to avoid anything thorny being asked. 

The fluorescent lights burn on his skin as he compliantly poses with fans.

Zayn stands beside him, shoulders brushing his a familiar way whenever they move, too causal to be accidental.

They pose for photos. Zayn’s hand rests briefly at Liam’s lower back, it’s routine, practiced, nothing out of the ordinary.

But Liam feels it like static, he feels all of it. He feels how Zayn's hand moves along his back and finds its place on his waist. He feels Zayn’s warm fingers wrap around his hanging dangerously low. He feels it when Zayn gives him a brief squeeze before letting his hand slip away to hug a crying fan. And most of all he feels his skin burn at the loss of contact and he feels the way his heart pounds in his chest like it's trying to break free. 

Zayn’s laugh is easy, natural; it’s everything Liam’s isn’t. Every so often he catches the flash of Zayn’s gleaming smile and the ache in this chest folds inward.

Liam catches Louis watching eyes from the side, his expression knowing.

As they walk onto stage for the QnA; Liam can’t help but feel something wrong brewing in his gut. An odd hum sticks under his skin.

The questions are normal, they evenly split up who answers what so everyone gets to speak with the general questions. But when Harry's answering that is asked directly to, Liam feels a shift beside him. He takes a deep breath and it inevitably causes him to get a whiff of overwhelming scent. With Zayn still this close next to him Liam can smell the peppery musky notes of his cologne. Then he feels a huff of warm air shadow over the base of his neck. A shiver runs down his spine.

“If one more person asks about the next album, I'm fakin’ a faint” Zayn whispers next to him, low so the mic doesn’t pick it up. 

Llam laughs — too quickly, too softly. The sound catches in his throat. For a second, it feels like things are how they used to be. His chest unclenches and his guard slips.

Then Zayn’s breath hits his ear again. Warm and close. And everything inside of him tightens rights back up.

“You still do that thing with your nose when you’re nervous, ya know”

Liam freezes up all together. 

The warmth in Zayn’s tone hit deeper than it should, soft and knowing. Liam finds himself hating how easily Zayn still notices him. How easily he can read him, how he still knows him better than anyone else.

How easily it hurts.

He laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound as stiff in Zayn’s ears as it does in his.

Zayn eventually leans back out of Liam's space when a fan calls his name to ask a question.

And Liam mourns the sudden loss of his familiar warmth.

A couple minutes later as the QnA section is coming to an end, a fan asks “Who’s the most protective one?” 

Liam looks around, willing to take charge if the others don’t volunteer to answer. But he doesn’t have to because Louis is already leaning close into his and Liam's shared mic on the table.

“This one.” He says jabbing Liam in the side of his stomach playfully. “Especially over a certain lad”. Thankfully he turns his head towards Liam when he adds the last part, so the mic doesn’t pick it up.

The room erupts into a flow of laughter and in it Liam turns to his side to find Zayn’s unblinking gaze. A soft smile is painted on the other’s face. Liam felt the tips of his ears heat up at the sight. 

They both stare at each other for a second too long before Liam finally looks away.

 >>>>>

The smell of hairspray, leather, and a mix of different cologne scents drift into the hallway as they got ready, each door open a tad in their sectioned off corridor of the hotel, so if anyone needs to borrow anything they can simply knock and walk in with ease.

Liam is half in his Batman suit, just the pants on because even though he can see the greying sky out the window his room is still stiflingly hot. He’s alone in the room, Niall leaving to go into Harry's room while Liam was in the shower. He left a trail of clothes scattered in his wake. So Liam bends down and cleans a little, not wanting to come back to a messy room tonight.

The speaker from the bathroom is still playing, the sound of Justin Bieber's ‘flatline’ spilling into the room. Liam hums to the sound, swaying his hips a little as he collects more clothes into his arms.

Suddenly there's a knock in the door, breaking the spell.

“Come in” Liam says, using his phone to turn the music down slightly.

He turns to the door and watches it drag open revealing… A cowboy?

Liam hadn’t been ready. He thought he’d been prepared for whatever Zayn decided to show up in, after endless nights of listening to him debate different opinions. 

He was not.

The moment Zayn steps through the door, the air changes.

The low light from the hall hits him first — the soft gold catching on the open buttons of his shirt, the smooth brown of his skin glittered with various tattoos, the glint of the belt buckle sitting too low to be legal. There’s a cowboy hat tilted lazy over one eye, and a half-smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Liam’s brain stutters. His throat goes dry.

He wants to look away — really, he does — but his eyes drag over every inch like they’ve been starved.

A silver chain catches in the soft hotel light, his shirt hanging open down his chest. The smell of smoke and something sweet follows him in, sharp against the clean air.

“Bloody hell,” Liam breathes out before he can stop himself.

Zayn’s grin is slow, dangerous. He takes a step forward, closing the door behind him. His eyes sweep over Liam — lingering far too long to be innocent. Liam suddenly feels exposed, regretting not throwing on a shirt after his shower.

Liam tries to speak — anything — but his mouth’s too dry. His heart’s doing that traitor thing again, beating like it’s trying to crawl out of his chest.

Zayn grins grows transforming into a smile. He looks over to the desk where Liam’s eye mask lays.

“Didn’t peg you for the brooding hero type.”

“Didn’t peg you for the cowboy stripper type.”

Liam scoffs, turning around leaving Zayn to face his back as he throws the remainder on Niall’s clothes on his bed.

Zayn, behind him, laughs. Low and easy.

“Guess we both have layers, huh?”

Liam turns to face him, eyes following Zayn as the other walks over to his desk.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

“Lou told me you wanted to borrow this”

It’s only then Liam rips his gaze and looks down at the other’s hand. Zayn's holding a small pallet, dark in colour. Eye black.

Liam hums in response, but he doesn’t look back up at him.

Zayn taps the palette lightly, the sound small in the room. A slower song plays out of the bathroom. Probably something by H.E.R, Liam thinks distantly.

“Figured I’d help,” Zayn says, voice smooth, almost too casual. “You know, artistic eye and all…”

Before Liam can respond, Zayn’s already closing the space between them. His footsteps are unhurried, confident, the faint creak of his boots filling the silence. He stops just in front Liam, close enough for the heat of his body to seep through the thin air between them. It’s subtle — but Liam feels it. The heat, the static. The gravity that always seems to bend whenever Zayn’s near.

“Sit.” Zayn’s words come out as a whisper. It's not a question. It's a command.

Liam’s throat works as he swallows. “You don’t have to—”

“Didn’t ask if I had to,” Zayn cuts in softly. 

And apparently things can get worse because Zayn decides to take matters in his own hands. Literally.

Before Liam can ask what he’s doing, Zayn’s hands land on his shoulders cold, steady and far too sure of themselves. Thumbs brushing over the slope of muscle like he’s testing how solid Liam feels beneath his fingers. The sudden contact sends a quiet shock down Liam’s spine, his breath catching before he can hide it, a small involuntary sound he’d rather not name slips through his lips.

Liam can't look at Zayn.                                      

So he looks at his neck instead, deeming the slope where the other's neck meets his shoulder safe.

“Sit,” Zayn says again, voice soft but still leaving no room for argument. The pads of his fingers press harder against Liam’s skin, guiding him back until his knees bump the edge of Niall’s bed. The motion is slow, unhurried, but it feels charged — like the air itself has narrowed down to just the space between them.

Liam sits. He tells himself it’s because it’s easier that way, not because the weight of Zayn’s touch has stolen every ounce of his will to move.

The mattress dips under his weight; the world tilts a little.

Zayn stays hovering over him, close enough now that Liam can feel the heat of him through the faint scent of aftershave and cigarette smoke, close enough that every breath Zayn takes seems to tug at his own.

The touch lingers — a ghost of pressure at the base of his neck, a finger sweeping absently across skin that’s suddenly too aware of itself, thumbs tracing the edge of Liam’s collarbone before he pulls away. 

When Zayn finally lets go, Liam’s skin still buzzes where those fingers had been, like the memory refuses to fade. The absence feels louder than the contact did, and Liam swallows. Hard.

He doesn’t look up. Not yet. Because if he does, he’s certain Zayn will still be looking at him — and he’s not sure he could survive that.

Liam watches Zayn's hand reach into his pocket and retrieve the palette. Zayn flicks the small palette open, the faint click cutting through the hush of the room now that the music has faded away completely. It’s quiet enough that Liam can hear the hum of the city outside, the distant hiss of passing cars. Inside, the air feels heavy, loaded with anticipation. The faint smell of the makeup — oil, charcoal, and something faintly metallic — hangs between them.

Zayn dips his thumb into the color, his rings clicking against the edge. When he steps forward, the light shifts — his shadow slides up over Liam’s bare shoulders, cool against the warmth of his skin.

Zayn doesn’t comment. He just tilts his head, studying Liam’s face like he’s a sketch he’s trying to get right.                                                      

The first streak of paint is a shock of cool against Liam’s skin. Zayn’s thumb follows, smudging it smooth. Each small movement is deliberate. Almost reverent.

Their knees touch as Zayn steps closer. Something hot radiates and pools in Liam’s stomach.

“Hold still,” Zayn murmurs. His tone isn’t teasing this time; it’s careful.

Liam obeys. He stares ahead, trying not to move, not to flinch, not to feel everything he’s feeling. His heartbeat seems to echo in his throat.

Zayn’s thumb drags carefully beneath Liam’s eye, spreading the dark streak of paint in one clean motion. It’s cool at first, then warmer as his skin adjusts. Liam blinks, his throat tightening as the pad of Zayn’s finger brushes too close to his cheek.

Zayn steadies his other hand against the side of Liam’s jaw. His rings are cold and the contact sends a shiver darting down Liam’s spine.

“Sorry,” Zayn murmurs, seeming to have felt it as well. His voice dipping into something that sounds almost rough. “Didn’t mean to—”

“S’fine,” Liam says quickly, though it comes out raspy and hoarse instead of soft like intended.

Zayn’s thumb moves again, smudging the line, slower this time, deliberate. Liam can feel every shift of his touch, every inhale that ghosts across his face. His heartbeat thuds against his ribs, embarrassingly loud.

Zayn leans in just a little more, and the scent of him hits harder. Smoke, soap, a faint trace of the cologne he’s always worn.                                

The kind that sticks in the air long after he’s gone.

“Turn your head a bit,” Zayn says, his voice quieter now. But he doesn't wait for Liam to obey, the tips of his fingers already under his chin to guide him.

Liam looks up — and for a moment, the world narrows to a single frame.

Zayn stands close enough that Liam can make out every small detail the light decides to linger on. The glow from the lamp hits him from the side, catching the curve of his jaw and the faint stubble there. A single curl of hair slips from under his hat and brushes against his forehead.

The little silver ring in his nose glints when he moves, the kind of soft flash that’s impossible not to follow. His eyes are a warm, deep brown, but up this close they’re not just brown — they’re layered. Threads of amber and gold ripple through them, and around the iris of his left eye, there’s a single freckle dotting the white. Liam’s never noticed it before. It shouldn’t be something he notices now, but he can’t stop staring.

His nostrils flare up slightly with every inhale, and Liam’s eyes trace the movement without meaning to, softening Zayn’s expression into something unfairly human.

He tilts Liam’s chin up even more, gently, thumb brushing just under his jaw. The touch isn’t rough — it’s steady, almost careful — but it sends a tremor through Liam anyway.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Liam’s eyes flicker up again — to that tiny freckle, that stupid little mark that no one else would ever see unless they were this close — and he wonders how long it’s been there.

Liam’s eyes trace downwards, lingering on details he’s never allowed himself to notice before. The shape of Zayn’s mouth. His lips, soft and naturally pink, catch the light in a way that makes Liam aware of his own pulse, thudding painfully in his ears. Soft at the corners, tinted faintly red like he’s just bitten them. When Zayn concentrates, his tongue peeks out for the briefest second, wetting the corner before retreating again. And Liam feels something tighten low in his chest, something warm and unsteady. The corner of Zayn's mouth quirks in a way that seems almost mischievous, deliberate, teasing, and Liam’s hands clench involuntarily. 

Liam freezes, watching, memorising, as though the smallest motion carries the weight of the world. Because yeah It’s such a small thing, barely even movement, but it still manages to pull Liam’s focus like gravity. 

And the little details — the tiny crease at the corner of his mouth, the faint line along his brow, the small brush of stubble against his jaw — all of them strike Liam with a weight that feels too large, too sudden. Each one is exaggerated, magnified by proximity, by the quiet of the room, by the fact that Zayn is here, close, watching him too.

Liam notices the subtle rise of his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders, the faint shadows dancing across his chest from the overhead light.

Liam’s own chest tightens before he even realizes he’s holding his breath. He can’t look away — every tiny movement Zayn makes is a magnet pulling his gaze. 

Even the movement of Zayn’s hands as they adjust the palette he’s holding seems purposeful, deliberate, each fingertip tracing air Liam can feel. Liam’s stomach twists with the knowledge that he is taking in all of this, committing it to memory, letting it bury itself into him.

It’s the way Zayn’s presence fills the room without saying a word, makes every breath feel loaded.

And still, somehow, Liam can’t look away.

He notices the slight dip of Zayn’s Adam’s apple when he swallows, the faint brush of hair against the nape of his neck, the tension in the tendons of his neck as he reaches to adjust his posture. He feels the desperate need to reach out, to touch. To run his fingers over the other’s jaw, in hopes of seeing if his skin feels as soft as it looks. To smooth his thumb over his eyebrows, which are now scrunched up in concentration. 

To put his lips on Zayn's…

The world beyond that small hotel room disappears, leaving only the shimmer of light on Zayn’s skin, the tiny freckle in his eye, the soft curl of his lips, and the way he tilts his head just so, unknowingly setting Liam’s heart on fire.

Because up close like this, Zayn doesn’t look untouchable. He just looks real — impossibly, painfully real.

And that’s the hardest part of all.

When he pulls back, his hand stays, thumb pressed at the hinge of Liam’s jaw. 

“Looks good on you,” Zayn says under his breath, half to himself. He drags his thumb on Liam's jaw, painfully slow. And Liam can feel the warmth of his hand settle at the back of his neck.

“All done, hero” He says more confidently, looking into Liam's eyes, his voice is rough around the edges. 

The air feels thin, like it’s holding its breath.

Liam laughs once — soft, startled — but it dies halfway out of his chest. “Guess you’re a better artist than I thought.”

Zayn smiles. Small and crooked, yet dangerous. “Guess you’re just inspiring.”

The words hang there, heavy. The air tastes like static. Zayn’s hand remains, then hesitates, before his fingers slid into the hair at the nape of Liam’s neck. Settling as if pulled by gravity. For a second — a real, suspended second — Liam thinks he might actually do it. 

Say something, or touch, or both.

And then the knock comes — sharp, too loud for how soft the moment was.

The door swings open, and Louis freezes mid-step. From the angle, all he can see is Liam’s face, flushed and wide-eyed, and Zayn’s back, one hand resting at the nape of Liam’s neck. The rest of the scene is obscured, leaving Louis to piece it together with his imagination.

“Oi… Batman and- uh- Brokeback…?!” he blurts out, words stumbling over each other as he throws up his hands, trying to mask shock with humor. “Move it! Both of you! Now!”

They both flinch. Zayn steps back, clearing his throat. The palette snaps shut with a click that sounds final.

Liam blinks, looking away into the mirror across the room, the spell broken. His reflection looks like someone else — painted eyes, flushed skin, chest rising too fast.

Zayn wipes his thumb on a towel, pretending not to notice. He glances back towards Lou, then back to Liam, smirking faintly. “in a bit, Li” he murmurs, stepping out in rushed steps, the click of the door echoing in the suddenly heavy room.

Liam remains still, chest tight, pulse hammering, unsure whether to breathe or vanish. Louis steps closer, eyes scanning him with careful attention, gauging his state. Every line of his stance, the tilt of his head, carries both exasperation and concern.

“Mate… seriously, what was that?” Louis’ tone is calm, though sharp enough to make Liam’s shoulders tense further.

Liam glances down and freezes. Fingers curling slightly, then unclenching. Palms quivering just enough to be noticeable. He shifts his weight, trying to still them, but the slight shaking refuses to stop. The warmth creeping up his neck now feels like fire. His shoulders tense. Every small movement feels like it’s broadcasting every secret thought he’s trying to hide.

“Nothing,” comes the shallow reply, voice brittle, words clipped, gaze fixed on the floor.

“Nothing?” Louis repeats, disbelief threading his voice. “Because it…” Louis stops then exhales, soft, almost a hum. “Your hands are shaking.”

Liam looks. Sure enough. Visible tiny tremors runs through his fingers. He presses them back down, hoping it’s not obvious. “I… I’m fine,” he mutters, voice tight.

Louis smirks a little. “Really? ‘Cause looks like something’s got your chest all in a knot.”

Louis steps closer, one hand landing lightly on Liam’s shoulder. Not heavy, just grounding. “Payne, man.” His voice is low, steady. “Remember what I said in the cab? ‘Don’t let it eat you alive’? Looks like it’s nibbling anyway.”

The words cut into him like a quiet echo. Liam forces his gaze up, meeting Louis’ eyes. The warmth there is steady, unflinching. He notices the slight dip of Louis’ brow, the soft twitch of his lips, the way he shifts weight to keep grounded — Louis is calm, but he’s watching, waiting.

Liam’s jaw tightens. “I… I just-” His words get caught, trailing off. The trembling in his fingers spreads slightly as he clenches them again, like trying to swallow the feeling in his chest..

Louis leans in a touch, softer now. “Hands don’t lie, mate. You’ve been holding back.”

Liam lets out a short, embarrassed laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… trying.”

Louis leans back slightly, giving Liam space, but his eyes linger, warm and steady. Liam’s chest eases with the silence, the tiny shakes of his hands slowing as he presses them lightly to his thighs.

The hum of the hotel around them filters in — distant voices, the soft click of heels on the marble floor. Liam feels both present and adrift at the same time.

He exhales, long and quiet. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips, fleeting but genuine.

Louis smirks, stepping back fully now, sensing the shift in mood. “Alright, mate. That’s enough heart-to-heart for one night. Hurry up before the car gets here, we’ve got a party to get to.”

Liam chuckles softly, and nods as he watches Louis walk towards the door.

>>>>>

Zayn had said Arthur was hosting the party at his parents house, since they were out of town. But he must have forgotten to mention how well off his parents were because when their cab pulls up to a house just on the outskirts of Paris. Liam steps out and his jaw drops in shock.

Arthur’s place is huge. Spilling with people, glowing lights that can be seen in the windows outside, music loud, its bass thumping against the floor. When they step in Zayn wanders though the house like he owns the place, guiding the boys as he goes.     

The deeper they get into the house the more neon flashes there are, the more Liam shoes stick to the floor as he's smashed in between people dancing and singing along to whatever song the DJ is playing and the stronger the smell of sweat and smoke gets. 

Yet Zayn moves still confident as he stops at the kitchen island filled with drinks. Niall had disappeared as soon as he stepped in, Liam looked into the crowd to see the khaki ghostbusters jumpsuit of the Irish lad. 

Liam looks over his shoulder to see Harry and Louis — Cupid and the Devil — to see them on the opposite counter supposedly getting something to drink.

“Liam, you-”
Whatever Zayn was trying to say dissolves into the booming chorus spilling in from the living room. Liam steps closer to hear him, nudging aside a cheap plastic sword with the toe of his boot. He ends up right beside Zayn at the kitchen island, close enough to smell the faint hint of leather and familiar cologne that constantly clings to him wherever he goes .

Zayn lifts his cup in greeting when Liam arrives beside him, giving him that easy, lopsided smile that always hits Liam harder than it should. The kitchen lights cast a warm gold over them, soft compared to the dizzy strobe in the rest of the house and outside — finally, a moment where Liam feels like he might actually say something real.

Zayn opens his mouth to try again.

But before Liam can ask what the older boy meant, he’s interrupted by none other than—

Arthur.

The vampire sweeps into the kitchen like he’s gliding, not walking, the black velvet of his coat trailing behind him like a shadow with attitude. 

His fangs gleam when he grins; the red contact lenses catch the light in a way that makes him look almost unreal. Liam feels the shift in the room the second Arthur appears — people notice him, always.

Some even cheer in his direction.

But Aj only has eyes for one person.

“Zaynnnn!” he practically sings, slipping into French without missing a beat. “Mon gars, je t’ai cherché partout.”

He wears a charcoal vest embroidered with intricate black-on-black patterns — swirling, gothic shapes that shimmer like they’re stitched with midnight. The vest is buttoned snugly, hinting at the sculpted lines of his torso, and the white dress shirt beneath is crisp, sleeves rolled neatly, showing forearms decorated with silver rings and a bracelet that glints like moonlight.

The silver chain — familiar to Liam from the other night — hangs loosely around his neck, catching the gleam of the overhead light each time he breathes. Christ, even his pants are tailored, black as ink, tucked into polished boots that thud softly but confidently against the tile.

Before Zayn can respond, Arthur closes the distance and pulls him into a full, engulfing hug — a real hug, not one of those quick, polite ones. It’s the kind that wraps around the whole upper body, one arm around Zayn’s shoulders, the other around his waist, tugging him close until Zayn is pressed entirely against the velvet coat.

Zayn laughs, his drink sloshing a little as he sets it quickly onto the counter. “Bro, you’re gonna wrinkle your costume—”

“Je m’en fous,” Malik murmurs into his shoulder, voice low — but still loud enough to be heard over the music's pulsing beat — it’s crumpled around the edges, with the scent of something vaguely alcoholic. “Fallait que je te voie.”

Liam watches, frozen, as Zayn’s hands come up — hesitant for a beat — then settle around Aj’s back, returning the hug. Not just accepting it. Returning it.

Liam ignores the burning he feels in his chest.

Arthur holds him longer than he needs to. Long enough that Liam counts the seconds in glow of pulsing the lights surrounding them. Long enough that Liam feels the moment he was about to have slip right out of his grasp.

When Arthur finally pulls back, his hand stays on Zayn’s arm, thumb brushing lightly along the leather sleeve.

“Seriously, where were you hiding?” he asks, flashing that award-winning grin.

Zayn chuckles, still close enough that their shoulders touch. “Mec, I’ve been in the kitchen. You just refused to look.”

Liam exhales slowly, masking the jealousy twisting in his chest.
He’s right here — but suddenly, he feels completely invisible.

“Pardon, Liam,” Aj says, glancing towards him for what feels like a millisecond. “Je ne pouvais pas résister. I see my favorite cowboy and had to say hello.”

Liam watches the two of them — still tangled in the echo of that hug — as Arthur launches straight into a stream of animated chatter, his hands moving as expressively as his voice.

“Non mais sérieux, Zayn,” Malik says, slipping into that easy casual French between breaths that has Liam feeling ostracized. “T’as manqué le désastre là-bas. Someone tried to duel me with a plastic broom, I swear.”

Zayn bursts out laughing, leaning his hip against the kitchen island. 

Eyes bright in that way Liam loves too much. 

“Dude, that sounds like something you’d encourage.”

“Moi? jamais.” Malik protests, hand flying dramatically to his chest. “Bon… maybe a little.”

They both laugh. Together. Loudly. Like they’ve completely forgotten Liam was even there.

Liam forces a polite smile he doesn’t feel, and steps back a little.

Just a small shuffle at first. Barely noticeable. He pretends he’s just adjusting his footing, that he’s still part of this triangle. But neither of them glance his way.

He takes another step back.

But Zayn and Aj don’t even pause. Arthur’s cape sways dramatically as he talks, red satin flashing. Zayn is smiling — wide, loud, attention fully captivated by his childhood friend.

Liam drifts another step away, feeling the distance open like cold air between them. The kitchen lights suddenly feel too harsh, the chatter from the hall too loud. His foot brushes the plastic sword on the floor again as he backpedals, the stupid thing skittering across the tile like it’s making fun of him.

They still haven’t looked his way.

Arthur says something louder — still in the foreign words Liam doesn't understand. Something funny, something showy, Liam muses because Zayn doubles over laughing. Arthur bumps his shoulder into Zayn’s, warm and familiar in a way that makes Liam’s stomach warp.

That’s it.
There’s nothing left for him in this moment.

Liam turns, stepping out of their orbit entirely, swallowed by the loud hum of voices, music, and feet dancing behind him. His chest feels hollow, like someone scooped something out of him without asking.

He slips away, swallowed by the glow and noise of the party, like he’d never been part of the moment in the first place.

Leaving his unspoken words behind him.

>>>>>

So Liam spends migratory of the party being dragged around by Louis and Haz, who had both claimed nobody should be ‘sulking’ on Halloween “especially at a party like this”. 

Time passes as it usually does. Fast; not slowing for anyone.

He passes most of the time watching.

Looking into the crowd and watching Louis and Harry dance together — but then their moves start to become edrotic, and he feels odd about watching so he looks away.                                    As he glances away and sees Niall being pulled out the room by some French girl, his cheeks red with a pairing boyish smile gleaming across his face. 

Good for him, Liam thinks to himself dimly.

Zayn weaves through dancers, brushing past the hands grabbing at his sleeves, his half open shirt glows under the rainbow lights. He finds Liam fast, like he's always done. Liam… leaving..?

The party roars around Liam — same flashing neon lights, same bodies moving, same ache in his chest. 

He wanders around the mansion until he finds a loveseat in a semi crowded dimly lit hallway. Mostly filled with couples making out against walls, people smoking while sitting on the floor, and some just chatting. So he decides to sit down, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.

And just breaths.

Exists.

But he’s barely sat there for two minutes before someone says his name like a prayer.

“Li, there you are.”

Zayn.

He appears through the crowd like he craved a path with pure intention. His pupils are blown wide with alcohol, and dopamine.  His hair curls into a sweaty mess, cheeks flushed pink, the stupid cowboy hat hanging off his fingers like he got tired of wearing it and chose to carry it like a trophy.

His eyes land on Liam.

Everything in them softens.

He looks… wrecked. Not sad. Just drunk and soft around the edges, like the world’s been blurring for him and Liam is the only thing still in focus.

He stumbles once, catches himself, then marches straight toward Liam with laser focus.

“Leeyummmm,” He drawls, long and sweet and drunk as sin. Accent hugging Liam’s name in the way it always does when Zayn’s tipsy or tired — curling around the vowels, turning them warm, slipping under Liam’s skin before he can guard against it. 

Liam tries for steady. “You alright, mate?”

Zayn blinks at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then his shoulders drop, the tension melting out of him like he’s been holding himself together by sheer force and finally gave up.

“No” He says plainly — honest in the way he only ever gives when he’s drunk, or exhausted, or cracked open in some quiet way Liam’s never learned how to brace for.

And before Liam can respond, he steps closer. Much closer. 

Into Liam’s space.

Into Liam’s gravity.

“...’Been lookin’ for you” he says, voice droopy. “Thought you’d disappeared.”

His eyes rake over Liam like he’s checking he’s real.

“Why’d you leave me?” It’s almost a pout. Almost.

Liam decides to ignore the question completely in favor of asking “Are you… drunk?”, while furrowing his eyebrows.

Zayn glares at him like it’s rude to ask.

“No” he lies immediately. Then sways. “Maybe. A bit.”

Before Liam can respond, Zayn drops the cowboy hat onto his head, missing slightly and then giggling as he adjusts it. His fingers slide into Liam’s hair, stroking the strands into place with slow, distracted tenderness. His other hand reaches out and lands on Liam’s chest. Fingers splay wide over the fabric of his shirt, warm even through the material, like he’s checking to make sure Liam is real.

“There,” Zayn murmurs, gaze softening.”Suits you.”

Liam’s heart speeds, flustered but also worried with the way Zayn keeps fumbling over his own feet. 

Liam sits up straight. “Hey- careful-”

But Zayn doesn’t fall. 

Instead he does something that knocks every coherent word out of Liam's mind.

He sits.

Right in Liam’s lap.

Like he belongs.

Like he always has.

Not gracefully. Not shyly. Just climbs into it like he’s done it every night of his life. Knees bracketing Liam’s thighs, settling his weight like Liams’s legs exist purely for this purpose. Chest pressing fully into his in a way that sends a warm tingle all the way down Liam’s spine.

Liam’s breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

His hands fly to Zayn’s hips. Automatically.

Zayn’s breath hitches like even he wasn’t expecting to be that bold.

“Easy.” Liam whispers, but his voice doesn’t fail to waver.

Zayn settles fully onto him, warm and heavy, swaying slightly even while sitting. His arms loop loosely around Liam’s neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Knees tightening faintly around Liam’s hips, grounding him, trapping him. Crowding into Liam’s space until Liam is forced to tilt his head to meet his eyes.

Zayn tilts his head, nose nearly brushing Liam’s. His eyes are heavy-lidded, warm, unfocused but so painfully earnest it almost feels cruel.

“You left me,” He accuses, warm breath fanning over Liam’s lips. “I was talkin’ to Aj and suddenly you were gone and i-”

He hiccups.

Liam can feel the heat rolling off him.

“I didn’t leave you, Zee” Liam says gently. “You were busy.”

Their noses brush.

Zayn blinks at Liam like he’s trying to bring him into focus — pupils blown, lashes sticking together, breath coated with rum, and smoke, and cinnamon from whatever drink someone must have forced into his hand.

“Never too busy for you, babe. You’re loud in my head.” he replies voice still low, warm, and sticky with alcohol.

Before Liam can try make sense of the sentence, Zayn reaches up and — God — cups Liam’s jaw, the tips of his calloused fingers grazing over the shell of Liam’s ear. The energy between them shifts as his thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of Liam, with such unexpected care that Liam forgets how language works.

Liam's heart is in his throat, thudding so hard he’s sure Zayn can hear it.

Then his thumb swipes Liam’s cheekbone. In a way that sends goosebumps down his neck. Possessive. 

Zayn shifts in his lap — deliberately or not, Liam can’t tell — but his hips drag against Liam’s thighs and Liam’s brian short-circuits entirely. Because Zayn is so close. So fucking close in a way Liam never thought he’d be… 

Liam can hardly think.

“Zay… you’re- you’re so drunk.”

“Mmh.” Zayn leans in further, causing their noses to brush again. “But I'm still right.”

“About what?”

Zayn’s fingers curl in the collar of Liam's shirt, tugging him closer until Liam can feel every warm inhale against his lips.

“That you shouldn’t leave me like that.” His eyes flicker down to Liam’s mouth                                                                                                                                                                           “Didn’t like it”

Liam opens his mouth — to explain, to apologize, to say he didn't want to watch Zayn wrapped in someone else's arms — but Zayn shakes his head and laughs — a small, breathless sound that ghosts the air between their mouths — like he already knows.

“I was looking for you,” he admits softly but still weighted. “Didn’t care about anyone else.”

His thumb slides down and brushes the corner of Liams’s mouth with terrifying intention.

Liam licks his lips instinctively, breath shuttering.

The party rages around the house, but there — in a tiny pocket of heat and breath and almost touch — everything goes silent. 

Liam's blood runs through his veins like warm honey. Thick and slow.

“Leeyum”

Zayn whispers, rasping and needy.

He shifts once more, hips rolling, causing Liam’s breathing to still completely while he fails to stifle a shallow whimper. 

Zayn’s jaw clenching like he’s fighting a thought too messy to let out loud.

“You left before I- before I could tell you…”

Tell him what?                                                                                                                                                                Tell him something?                                                                                                                                                        Tell him everything?

Liam’s lips part without permission.

“What did you want to tell me, Zee?”

Zayn’s gaze drops to Liam’s mouth again. He leans in until their lips faintly brush. So faintly Liam thinks he might have imaginated it.

“I really missed you tonight” Zayn murmurs.

Liam’s hands tighten around Zayn's hips.

Zayn tilts his head. His thumb traces the dip of Liam’s lower lip.

He’s going to kiss him.

He actually going to-

But then reality snaps back in.

“ZAYNNNN! VIENS!”

A voice cuts through the hall like a blade.

Liam’s doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

Arthur.

Liam assumes it's not just him because he can hear other incoherent French words being called over in various voices.

Zayn flinches — not in fear but in anger. A sharp, frustrated little sound leaves him as he drops his forehead against Liam’s shoulder.

He mutters something sharp in French that Liam can’t translate but definitely understands in the tone alone. 

And the last thing Liam hear Zayn say is a muttered “Every fucking time…” into his neck before he inhales, deep and annoyed, then sits up reluctantly like peeling himself off Liam requires physical effort.

One of what Liam is assuming to be Arthur’s friend calls out again “Malik! Viens, mec! We need you pour une photo-”

Zayn doesn’t even glance in his direction as he gets up.

He looks at Liam.

His fingers slide off Liam’s shoulders slowly, as of trying to memorize the shape of him in one last touch.

“Ill be back, Liam.” Zayn promises quietly, now sounding completely sober.

But the promise sounds like a lie he hates making.

He stands.

Stumbles slightly — in a way that has Liam almost retching out to steady him again.

Catches himself on the arm of the couch.

And then goes — swallowed up by flashing lights, and a group of loud drunk french men.

Liam watches him disappear.

Watches him look back.   

Three times.

And each look feels like a word he didn’t get to say.

Leaving Liam on the loveseat. Alone. Cowboy hat so crooked it's almost completely off his head, chest tight, mind spinning. 

His thighs feel tingly from the sudden loss of Zayn’s weight, and his jeans feel too tight, and his lips feel almost kissed.                                                                                       

And something inside him feels like it’s been pulled loose and left untied.

>>>>>

Liam doesn't mean to escape — he just needed somewhere to breathe.

Somewhere the walls weren’t pulsing

Somewhere Zayn’s warmth wasn’t still sticking to his tights.

He passes couples grinding and making out though dimly lit hallways, the scent of sweat and lust and cig smoke surrounding every crevice of the house.                                                              

He pushes through a half-open door and steps into a dark room, only lit up by a single crooked lamp. The bass of the party dulls instantly as he closes the door, replaced by the soft hum of an overworked radiator. It's not empty — no room in the mansion is — but this room resembles more of an untouched guest room, compared to the neon world outside, this one feels muted.

A bed sits in the middle of the room, untouched and clean, like the party had forgotten this room existed. Liam sinks onto it, elbows to knees, hat falling over and off completely and landing onto the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

The wind outside taps against the balcony door, like a warning that the weather is starting to shift.

His heart still thuds against his ribs, ignoring when he tells it to calm down.

He drags in a breath, trying to ground himself.

Then-

A soft click. 

The door opens, then clicks again as it closes with careful ease. 

Liam jerks his head up.

Arthur steps inside, blinking as though his eyes need time to adjust. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, dark skin casting against the bright white fabric, and his cape is now nowhere to be seen. A glass of wine hangs carelessly from one hand; and a pack of cigarettes in the other, his fingers curling around the box as if it is delicate.

“Oh- désolé,” Arthur says, gently, finally looking up and stopping short. “I didn’t know someone was in here.”

His voice is gentler than it has any right to be.

Liam clears his throat, and begs his breathing to calm down. “No- nah you’re fine. Just need some quiet.” 

“I wasn’t trying to… comment tu dis…” He gestures vaguely, looking back at the closed door like he’s debating leaving Liam alone. “Sneak up.” He says, deciding against leaving as he turns on his heels to face the room.

Arthur crosses the room with ease until he stands in front of Liam, boots muffled by the carpet.

“Liam, right?” he asks, accent warm, vowels rounded and soft.

Liam nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. I remember” He smiles — genuine, easy. The kind of smile that doesn’t know it pressing straight into a bruise. “These parties are always-” he huffs a small laugh, flicking open the box of cigarettes. “-- they make my head… plein. Euh… Full.”             

He then moves easily to sit down on the floor, his arm grazes Liam calf as he settles.  

Liam huffs out a sound that's almost a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”                                         

Liam looks down, and watches as Aj plucks out a cigarette. He doesn't light it yet though, instead he taps it gently against his palm. Thoughtfully.

“It is nice.” he says slowly, searching for the right English words. “How close you are with Zayn.”

Liam's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. 

Arthur doesn’t notice.

“Bon. He talks about you a lot,” Arthur continues, closing his eyes. “Always good things.”

Liam ignores the twisting in his stomach, the way his spine goes rigid.

“Oh,” he manages. “Yeah?”

“He says you keep him… grounded? Calmé.” Arthur circles a hand near his head. “He goes up here too much. In the clouds. But you bring him back.”

Liam stares at the floorboards, forcing his expression not to shift.

“Right,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I know what he means…”

Arthur takes a sip of his wine, then puts it on the floor next to him.

“You make him smile. A lot.” He shrugs. “He smile different with you.” 

Liam swallows. Hard.

His chest tightens with something that feels too close to hurt.

Arthur opens his eyes and looks up at Liam. Watching him from a moment, muttering something Liam can’t quite catch in French. His eyebrows are pinched like he’s trying to solve a puzzle in the air between them.

“You look…” He searches for the words, eyes narrowing slightly. “Fatigué..? Non.. euh.” A brief pause passes. “Euh, trop plein dans la tête, hein? ..Full in the head?” 

That almost drags a laugh out of Liam.

Almost. 

“Something like that,” he admits quietly.

Arthur nods like that settles it.

He taps the tip of his cigarette with a long wiry finger idly. 

“You do smoke?” he asks suddenly.

Liam shakes his head. “Not really.”

Arthur smiles, again — Liam swears it was what he was born to do.

“I go outside sometimes just for the air. Cigarette is just-” He fiddles with it in the tips of his fingers. “An excuse.” 

Liam replies “Yeah. I get that.”

Arthur lifts himself up off the floor, and sits next to Liam on the bed. The mattress folds slightly under his weight. His presence isn’t invading, just warm. Present. Human in a way that feels disarming. And Liam thinks faintly he may have misjudged Arthur, his judgement was blinded with — what he isn’t afraid to call now — jealousy.

“You are good for him, Liam.” Arthur says simply, tapping Liam’s shoulder with two fingers. “He is lucky, mon gars”

Liam breath stutters, but he manages a small smile — a real smile.

Arthur steps towards the balcony in one swift movement. But he hesitates before opening it. He glances back, lifting the cig pack slightly. The gentle Paris lights glowing against his skin in a bronze glow.

“You want to… join?” he offers lightly.

Liam stares up at him.

Thunder murmurs somewhere in the distant outside. 

The hallway hums. 

Liam’s chest feels like someone struck a fork inside of it.

He nods. Fast like he's scared he'll change his mind if he doesn’t.

“Yeah. Okay, I could use some air.”

Arthur smiles — soft, pleased — like he genuinely meant the invitation.

“Parfait. Come.”

He holds the door open for Liam, cold air seeping into the room.

And Liam follows the pull of the storm outside. 

>>>>>      

Liam has been out here for a long time. Long enough that the wind picked up and it started spitting misty rain against his skin. Long enough for Aj to have smoked two cigarettes and finished his glass of wine. When his phone started ringing loudly he had offered to stay, Liam had shrugged him off but thanked him for the offer. Liam has come to the conclusion his judgement had been terribly blinded and that Arthur was a really good lad — funny too — and he won’t mind taking up Zayn’s offer to hang with him next time they were in the country. 

Liam brings his head to a slight tilt and looks up upon the stars.                                                                                                                                 

He was going to miss France.

He was going to miss yellow street lights outside his hotel window, eeping in as he fell asleep. He was going to miss looking out to see the Eiffel tower. He was going to miss the city's constant chatter. He was going to miss moments like this where he could look up and see the stars. He couldn’t in London, too polluted. But here, here all he had to do was an indolent tilt of his head to look up to lay his gaze upon the sight of a billion twinkling nuclear fusions.

Liam was too busy musing to hear the balcony door opening.

Or the clicking of boots walking slowly toward him.

His mind was too loud — too full — for sound to slip in. 

But what he did hear was a voice, which spoke…

“Didn’t know Batman hid from parties.”

It was small. Soft. Almost a shy whisper, like whoever said it hadn’t meant to disturb him at all. And from the words alone, Liam might’ve assumed it was Louis — teasing, dramatic, coming to drag him away from sulking again.

But it wasn’t.

And he knew it wasn’t.

Liam didn’t need to turn around to know.

Doesn't need to check.

Doesn’t need to see.

He knew from the very first sound — the voice cutting through the rain’s mist in a warm low haze, careless in that way only one person manages without trying.

It wasn’t the words.

But it’s everything wrapped around them.

It’s the way the constants drag soft at the edges like Zayn’s been drinking, laughing, feeling too much for too long.                                                                                                                        It’s how his voice lands — not behind Liam, not beside him, but in him, slipping into that familiar space between thought and heartbeat Zayn always ends up.

It’s the warmth under the syllables.   

The subtle depth that always reminded Liam of something faintly velvety.

The way Liam could hear the smirk in his voice.

And Liam’s body reacts before his brain does.

His pulse stumbles, then races up his throat like it's trying to chase the sound.

Because Zayn doesn’t just speak; 

he pulls.

So, no. He doesn’t need to turn around to know. 

Because his body already knows.

His chest already knows.   

His heart always knows.

He doesn’t need to, but he does.

Turn that is.

He does it. Slowly. Like he already knows what he’s going to see, and is still not ready for the punch of it.

Zayn stands there on the balcony, framed by rain-streaked glass and the dim gold glow leaking from the room behind him. One hand tucked loosely into the pocket of his damp trousers, the other holding a cigarette between two rings he definitely didn't start the night wearing.

The ember glows soft orange as he breathes in, lighting up his cheekbones, the hollow of his throat, the faint rose flush across his nose. His shirt clings to him — looking uncomfortable in its rain soaked manner, plastered against the curve of his chest and stomach like the storm decided to sculpt him by hand.

He looks up under wet lashes, smoke curling from his lips like something from a dream Liam shouldn’t be having.

Liam swallows once, hard. 

But it doesn’t help that he watches Zayn’s eyes follow the movement and look back up at him.

“Didn’t know cowboys smoked menthols" Liam says — automatic and helpless — anything to ground himself.

Zayn smiles around the filter, small and crooked, and unfairly soft. 

“Didn’t know Batman judged,” he murmurs, voice low, a little hoarse from the cold, and shouting inside.

They stand like that for a moment. 

 Not close, but not far enough. 

The rain shifts from mist to a steady fall, drumming against the railing, darkening their clothes, turning their breath into visible clouds.

Zayn tilts his head back to look at the sky, and Liam's eyes subconsciously follow the water sliding down his jaw dripping from the ends of his jet strands. Liam watches a drop trail down his neck and disappear into his shirt collar, and something inside of him goes dangerously loose.

A wave of wet wind hits them, carrying cigarette smoke and the faint bass thumping through the walls.

Liam finally speaks.

It falls out of him like the storm knocked it loose.

“...Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Zayn’s eyes flick to him — sharp, searching, suddenly sober in a way that steals Liam’s breath all over again.                                                                                                                

For a beat, all Liam hears is the rain hitting metal. 

Then Zayn nods once, cigarette held loosely between his fingers. 

 His voice is quiet. Stripped down.

“Yeah.”

A small pause. 

“Me neither.”

And it hangs there — between them, between breaths, between every almost that’s been killing them for months — as the rain falls harder around their feet. 

The rain starts coming down in sheets, blurring everything around them. Liam grips the railing like he needs it to stay upright. The rain drums against it, a steady nervous rhythm that matches the tight thud of his heart. He stands there, shoulder drawn in, like the cold can’t compare to whatever’s clawing inside of him.

His breaths are a little too shallow.

Because every few seconds he tries to drag on in. Every few seconds it feels like it gets stuck halfway. 

It’s all telling. The way his jaw keeps flexing. The way his knee won’t stop bouncing even though he’s standing still. The way he keeps blinking the rain away a little too fat. The way his chest rises like he’s bracing for impact.

He’s not fooling anyone.

Especially not Zayn.

Zayn watches him through the curtain of rain, cigarette glowing faint between his fingers, the ember brightening each time he inhales. Smoke curls around his face, but his eyes are fixed entirely on Liam. There’s a crease between his brows — small, but there. Like he’s trying to read Liam the way he reads lyrics: slow, careful, desperate not to get it wrong.  

He doesn’t even pretend to look at the sky anymore.

He’s watching him.

Really watching him.

Like he’s afraid if he looks away, Liam might fade into the storm.

Finally Zayn speaks — quietly, so quietly that the rain nearly steals the words.

“Talk to me, Li”

Liam’s fingers tense on the railing.

“You’ve been miles away.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not a complaint.

It’s soft. Worried. A hand reaching into the dark.

And Liam knows exactly what he means.

Zayn isn’t talking about just the party.

He’s talking about the way Liam can’t look in the eye anymore, eyes always darting anywhere else. 

He’s talking about the way Liam goes rigid whenever their shoulders brush, like the touch burns. 

He’s talking about the way Liam has been laughing too quickly at jokes he barely hears, because his mind has been so faraway.

He’s talking about the way Liam keeps disappearing, into rooms, corners, anywhere Zayn isn’t.

He’s talking about the ache Liam thought he could hide.

Liam stares at the floor of the balcony, rain pooling at his boots.

“Yeah, well…” His voice comes out thin, scarped raw. “Maybe that’s safer.”

Zayn’s breath catches — just barely — but it sounds real.

He takes a step closer, like he’s approaching a wild animal that might bolt if he moves too fast.

“Safe’s boring,” Zayn murmurs.

The words are teasing in shape, but not in tone. His voice is warmer than the air, deeper than the rain, threaded with something that sounds suspiciously like hurt. 

Liam lets out a bitter laugh that doesn’t quite make it past his throat.                             

“Safe’s easier.”

A drop of rain slides down his temple, but it could be sweat — or something else.

And that’s when Zayn moves.

Not dramatically. Not sharply.

Just… closer.

Close enough that the smoke on Zayn's breath mixes with the air Liam’s trying too hard to breathe.

Close enough that Liam can feel the warmth radiating off him despite the cold.

Close enough that Liam’s breath shudders for a completely different reason.

Zayn tilts his head down, and then up, trying to catch Liam’s gaze — searching, patient, gentle with a kind of desperation stuffed underneath it.

“Talk to me” he whispers.

The rain eases for half a second, as if listening.

“Please.”

The word drops between them heavier than thunder.

And Liam can’t find it in him to meet his gaze.

Because he knows — in the deepest, most dangerous part of himself — that if he meets Zayn’s eyes right now, if he lets himself see whatever softness is sitting there waiting for him…

He’s not coming back from it.

The rain shifts first.

What had been heavy spitting has now begun to fall with real weights, droplets landing hard enough to sting against Liam’s cheeks. His hair, already damp, starts sticking to his forehead in messy clumps. The storm swells around them, humming with a kind of trembling inevitability. 

And maybe it’s that — the rain, the pressure, the feeling that the whole world is tiling towards some edge — that finally cracks him open.

It starts as barely a sound.

“You,” Liam says.

So quietly he shockingly hears it leave his own mouth.

Like his chest had been holding the word hostage and it slipped out by mistake.

But Zayn hears him. 

Zayn always hears him.

“Me,” Zayn answers immediately, quiet but sure, like the word already belonged to him.

There’s no confusion in his tone. No hesitation.

Just recognition — like he’e been waiting for Liam to finally break open.

Liam’s throat burns. His fingers curl, uncurl. He stares at the door behind Zayn, it being his only escape rote, but the truth is too swollen in his chest now, too jagged to swallow back down.

And then it all spills.

“You, Zayn,” he manages, the words scraping out of him like they’re tearing their way free “Always you.”

Rain runs down his cheeks in heavy rivers; he doesn’t bother wiping it away. A laugh punches out of him — wild, tired, a little hysterical. 

“Christ, you walk into a room and i forget how to fucking breathe.”

He laughs harder but the sound has too much edge to be humor, too sharp to be safe. It borders on a choke, on a sob.

His hand drags hard through his hair, tugging at the root like he could shake sense back into himself. He turns away, then back, then away again — unable to settle, too full, too close to tipping over 

“I’ve tried to stop.” His voice breaks. “God… I’ve tried”

He laughs again, shaper this time — the sound of someone losing the fight with himself echoing in even his own ears.

He tugs his hair once again like he’s trying to physically pull the feeling out of his skull.

He refuses to look at Zayn. Eyes darting everywhere, anywhere, expect the one place they want to go.

His pulse is everywhere too — in his throat, in his fingertips, behind his eyes. Like someone’s pressed a speaker against his ribs and turned the volume up to brutal.

He can feel the years of wanting, sitting heavy on his tongue, begging to spill over.

“And I know I shouldn't. I shouldn’t feel like this- I know that. I know I don't get to… to want anything. Not like this. Not from you. “ 

The confession tears all the way out of him — if you can even call it that, he’s unsure Zayn can even hear him with the way he stuttering his words and the ringing in his own ears. It’s raw and shaky, the kind of truth that’s been rotting in the dark.

His face is wet — from rain? tears? he doesn’t know. His breathing keeps stuttering — starting too fast, then stopping too short, like his lungs can’t decide whether to run or collapse.

“But I do.”

It’s not bravery — it's exhaustion. He’s simply run out of space to hide any of it, anymore.

“Know what, Zayn?” Liam spits out, breath hitching. “I’m an idiot. And for fuck’s sake, I’ve been trying not to make everything worse by-”

Louis' voice flickers through his mind. Unwanted, unhelpful.

“By wanting something I shouldn't.”

The words collapse out of him like he’s been holding them with bloodied hands. Rain drips off his chin. Hands balled into fists at his sides. His heartbeat is a frantic, uneven thing.

“But you-” His voice breaks, softer this time. “You make it impossible.”

Zayn is still here. Still too close. Too him.

Finally — finally — Liam looks at him.

Zayn is standing there breathing like he’s just been punched, chest rising and falling fast, hair plastered to his temples, eyes wide and drowning in something Liam refuses to name.

Liam can’t hold his gaze.

He looks away again, voice dropping into something horse, ruined,

“I’ve tried to stop. God, Zee I’ve tried,” he repeats, softer, more defeated, as if the storm might swallow the words before Zayn can. “But it’s always been you.”

Zayn goes still.

Not statue-still.

Not scared-still.

A different kind of still — the kind that feels like a held breath, like the world sucking the air out of itself to listen.

Rain beats harder against the balcony roof; droplets that roll down Zayn’s jaw and cling to his lashes, catching the faint moonlight. His chest rises, slow and sharp, like he’s swallowing every word Liam just spilled onto the stones between them, like he feels each syllable land against his skin.

And then…

softly, but with an undercurrent that shakes something loose in Liam’s ribs.

“Then stop trying.”

The words are simple.

But they hit Liam like lightning anyway.

Not because they’re loud — they aren’t.

Not because Zayn sounds angry — he doesn’t.

It’s the way he says it.

Like he’s exhausted from pretending. Like he’s been waiting for Liam to break first. Like he’s been biting those exact words back for months, letting them rot on his tongue until they finally forced their way out.

Liam’s head snaps upward without permission, shoulders jerking with the movement. He meets Zayn’s eyes and instantly wishes he hadn’t — because Zayn looks at him like that.

Like he sees him.

Every stupid thought.

Every buried want.

Every shaking confession that slipped out in the storm.

Zayn looks wrecked, but not messy.

More like overwhelmed.

Overfilled.

Like Liam cracked open something Zayn’s been burying under cigarettes, laughter, and whatever shitty French wine he’d been drinking all night.

The rain plasters Zayn’s hair to his forehead, dark strands curling just above his eyebrows. His lashes are stuck together, heavy with water. His mouth is parted, breath pushing out in uneven little bursts that cloud faintly in the cold.

He looks at Liam like Liam hung the goddamn moon.

And it breaks something in Liam — painfully, mercilessly — because Zayn shouldn’t look at him like that.

Not when Liam’s trying to stitch his heart back into something that can pass as functional.

Not when he’s spent the entire night trying to convince himself he imagined every soft touch, every lingering look.

Liam’s chest pulls tight.

“Zayn,” he says, voice tearing down the middle, “you don’t get to say that unless you mean it.”

Zayn’s eyes widen just barely — a flicker, a flash — but he doesn’t flinch away. Doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease, doesn’t try to soften the moment with a joke like he usually does.

Instead he steps forward.

Not a big step.

Not dramatic.

Just enough that Liam feels him inside his space — the warmth of him, the gravity of him, even through the sheets of rain soaking them both. Their shoes touch. Their soaked clothes almost brush.

He could reach out and touch Liam if he wanted to.

And Liam knows he wants to.

He can feel it — like a current humming between them.

Zayn looks right at him.

Not at his mouth.

Not at the floor.

Not at the cigarette he dropped and forgot about.

At him.

Like he’s searching Liam’s face for the pieces that match his own.

His voice slips out, low and steady.

“I do.”

The words land hot and soft in the center of Liam’s chest, sinking deeper than they should, deeper than he can hold. His knees nearly go weak. His heartbeat stumbles painfully against his ribs, too loud, too fast, almost violent.

Something in the air changes — the pressure, the weight, the temperature — like even the storm leaned closer to hear what comes next.

Zayn’s face is so close now Liam can see everything in it.

The curve of his mouth, bottom lip flushed with a red tint from biting, wet with rain.

The tiny tremor at the corner of his jaw.

The way his throat bobs when he swallows.

The fear. God, the hope.

Zayn takes another small step, the balcony railing behind Liam cold and unyielding. Their chests brush — barely, but enough for Liam to feel the heat radiating beneath Zayn’s soaked shirt. Enough for his breath to hitch, sharp and visible in the cold.

Zayn’s voice dips into a whisper — the kind people only use when they’re telling the truth for the first time.

“I always have.”

The words don’t just hit Liam.

They wreck him.

Something inside him twists, unfurling, breaking open so violently he has to shut his eyes for a second — like the sight of Zayn saying that, like that, might actually knock him over. His hands curl around the railing because he needs something to hold onto. Something solid. Something that won’t disappear if he blinks.

Because Zayn…

Zayn, who could have laughed it off.

Zayn, who could have smirked and changed the subject.

Zayn, who could have walked away like nothing dangerous had been said at all.

But Zayn is standing there in the rain looking at him like Liam is the only thing in the whole damn world worth ruining himself for.

And the worst — or maybe best — part?

Liam believes him.

All of him.

Every rain-soaked word.

The moment hangs between them — trembling, swollen, seconds stretched so thin they could split. Rain runs down their cheeks like someone else’s tears, cold and relentless, soaking through everything, blurring the whole world except him.

Zayn breathes in.

A shaky inhale, barely-there.

Liam feels it like a hand closing around his ribs.

And then Zayn moves.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Just inevitable.

His hand comes up, fingers threading into the hair at the back of Liam’s neck, warm even through the icy rain, palm firm like he’s anchoring him, claiming him, pulling him into gravity he’s been fighting for too long. Liam’s breath stutters — caught between shock and pure, devouring relief.

Zayn whispers something — maybe Liam’s name, maybe nothing at all — and then he’s there.

His mouth crashes into Liam’s.

The kiss isn’t neat.

It isn’t careful.

It’s messy, desperate, years of swallowed feelings ripping free all at once.

Their noses bump.

Teeth scrape.

Someone exhales a shaky, broken sound that could be a laugh or a sob.

And the moment their lips lock, the sky splits.

Thunder cracks right above them, loud enough to rattle the balcony under their feet — like the storm waited for them, like it’s been holding its breath too.

Cold rain pours down harder, dripping off their chins, running into their mouths — mixing with mint from Liam’s gum and the smoke still clinging to Zayn’s lips, and salt that Liam doesn’t know the source of but feels like truth.

Zayn’s other hand grips Liam’s soaked shirt, pulling him closer until their chests crush together, clothes plastered to skin, heat trapped between them even as the wind lashes around them. Liam fists the back of Zayn’s shirt, needing something to hold onto because his knees feel like they might give out, like the ground isn’t entirely real anymore.

Zayn kisses like he’s been waiting for permission for years.

Liam kisses like he’s been starving.

There’s no hesitation.

No careful testing.

No wondering.

Just yes.

Just finally.

Just everything they never let themselves say, poured straight into each other’s mouths.

Liam’s heart slams against his ribs so hard it hurts. He feels Zayn’s chest shaking with the force of his breathing, their lungs trying to sync and failing. Every time Liam tries to pull back for air, Zayn follows, mouth chasing his, like he’s afraid this is a dream and he’ll wake if he lets go.

The kiss deepens — not rough, not gentle, just urgent.

Like rain pounding on glass.   

Like everything breaking open at once.

Liam’s head spins.

He can taste wanting. He can taste years.

Zayn’s thumb strokes the side of his neck, slow and trembling, as if he’s memorizing Liam’s pulse under his skin.

And Liam just melts.

He collapses into the kiss — into Zayn — into the inevitability of it. All the tension, all the restraint, all the careful distance they’ve kept shatters like glass. It feels like surrender, like relief disguised as chaos, like the first breath after being underwater too long.

Liam doesn’t know who pulls the other closer, only that there’s no space left between them. No air. No question. No hiding.

Just heat.

Just rain.

Just Zayn.

Just years of wanting unfurling all at once.

When they finally break for breath — foreheads pressed together, panting, rain running down their faces — Liam’s voice comes out wrecked, barely audible, like the last word of a prayer.

“Finally.”

Zayn huffs a shaky breath against his lips, almost a laugh, almost a sob.

“Yeah,” he whispers, thumb brushing Liam’s cheek like he’s afraid to stop touching him. “Finally.”

For a long moment, neither of them moves.

Just the sound of rain hissing against metal.

Just their breaths, uneven and mingled.

Just their foreheads pressed together like their bodies are still trying to understand what their mouths already knew.

The first kiss ripped through them like lightning — sharp, unstoppable, violent in its relief.

But this silence…

This silence is worse.

Because it’s deliberate.

Zayn’s thumb is still resting on Liam’s cheekbone, warm despite the cold, despite the rain dripping off his wrist. His hand hasn’t moved. Not even an inch. Like he’s afraid that shifting might break whatever fragile, impossible moment they’re suspended inside.

Liam feels it — the tremble in Zayn’s fingers.

Feels the unspoken words gathering between them, thick and bright as the steam rising off the city below.

He lifts his eyes.

And Zayn is already looking at him.

Like always.

No panic this time.

No shock.

Just… wonder.

A kind of quiet, trembling awe.

Like Liam has turned into something he’s not entirely sure he’s allowed to touch, but can’t walk away from either.

The rain softens, turning to mist around them. Drops cling to Zayn’s lashes like glitter, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones. His hair is flattened to his forehead, curls dark and heavy, but his eyes — God — they’re molten in the dim lights. Deep. Soft. Almost frightened.

“Li…” he breathes, barely a sound. A confession in a single syllable.

And Liam feels it hit him in the chest, sharp and warm.

Feels something unclench inside him he didn’t know was still clenched.

He doesn’t think.

Doesn’t weigh consequences or futures or fallout.

He just lifts a hand — slow, trembling — and touches Zayn’s jaw.

Not grabbing. Not pulling.

Just feeling.

Tracing the line of bone with the gentleness of someone who’s imagined this a thousand times in the dark.

Zayn exhales shakily like the touch stole something from him. His eyes flutter closed just for a heartbeat, and when they open again, they’re pleading.

And Liam knows — knows with a certainty that feels like gravity — that Zayn wants him to kiss him again.

Not the frantic, unprepared, storm-torn crash from before.

But a choice.

A promise.

The kind of kiss you give when you know exactly what you’re doing.

So Liam moves in closer — barely an inch, but it feels seismic. His hand slides from Zayn’s jaw to his neck, thumb brushing the spot just below his ear. Zayn shivers. Not from the cold.

And then Liam whispers, quiet, breathy, scared out of his mind.

“Zayn.”

Just his name.

But it makes Zayn’s lips part, soft and wanting, like the sound broke him open.

Liam kisses him again.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Zayn sighs into him — a soft, helpless sound that hits Liam harder than the thunder. Their lips meet gently this time, no urgency, no crash, just warmth layered over warmth. The rain cools their skin but everywhere their mouths touch burns.

Zayn leans forward like he’s giving himself up, hands sliding to Liam’s waist, fingertips pressing through the soaked fabric like he needs to make sure Liam is really there. Liam tilts his head, deepening the kiss just a fraction — a soft drag of lips, a lingering pressure that says stay.

This kiss isn’t surrender.

It isn’t collapse.

It’s choice.

Their lips move together slowly, learning each other, savoring. Liam feels Zayn breathe through his nose, feels the shape of each inhale, feels his chest rising against his own. Zayn’s mouth tastes like rainwater and cig smoke and something warm and heartbreakingly sweet.

When Zayn kisses back — just a gentle push, a slow matching of pressure — Liam feels something inside him fall completely, irrevocably into place.

Their foreheads brush.

Their noses nudge softly.

The world narrows to warm lips and cold rain and the soft, unsteady rhythm of two people who’ve wanted each other far too long.

When they part, it’s barely an inch.

Zayn’s eyes stay closed, his lips still parted, chest still pressed to Liam’s like he hasn’t decided how to breathe yet.

Liam whispers against his mouth, barely a breath.

“…Zee.”

Zayn finally opens his eyes.

And there it is —

the realization, the relief, the we’re really doing this settling in the space between their heartbeats.

He smiles.

Small.

Shy.

Devastating.

Zayn barely finishes whispering “Come here” before he’s already leaning in again — not tentative now, not testing the waters, but with a kind of quiet hunger that makes Liam’s breath short-circuit in his chest.

This kiss is different.

Zayn chooses it.

Not pulled in by emotion.

Not overwhelmed.

Not answering confession with instinct.

He chooses Liam.

His hands slide up Liam’s sides, resting firmly at his ribs like he’s grounding himself there — like Liam’s body is the only solid thing in a world still shaking beneath them. His fingers curl into the wet fabric of Liam’s shirt, gentle but unyielding, as if he’s terrified Liam might evaporate if he loosens his grip.

Liam doesn’t wait.

He meets Zayn halfway, mouths colliding with slow force. Not frantic, not messy — just deep, controlled heat. The kind that sits low and heavy behind the ribs. Zayn’s lips are warm despite the rain, pliant, soft, moving with Liam in a rhythm that feels instinctive. His breath hitches just once, a soft, broken sound into Liam’s mouth before he steadies.

Zayn’s thumb strokes under the fabric clinging to Liam’s ribcage.

A small movement.

Barely anything.

But it destroys him.

Liam’s hand finds the back of Zayn’s neck again — it fits there too well, too naturally — thumb brushing wet strands of hair away from the curve of his jaw. He tilts Zayn’s head gently and deepens the kiss, a slow slide, a pull, a quiet claim. Zayn melts against him, chest pressing flush to Liam’s like the rain is pushing them together.

Their soaked shirts cling, fabric plastered to skin, heat bleeding through like a pulse.

Zayn parts his lips just slightly — not an invitation so much as a surrender — and Liam swallows the sound he makes when their mouths fit even closer. Rain drips from Zayn’s jaw onto Liam’s collarbone, cold trails running down hot skin.

The world is nothing but the warmth of Zayn’s mouth and the cool rain running over their hands and the faint, muffled thrum of music inside — a different universe behind glass.

Zayn breaks the kiss only long enough to breathe against Liam’s lips.

Not pull away.

Just… breathe.

A shared inhale.

A shared exhale.

Foreheads touching again because separation feels wrong.

His voice is a whisper, frayed at the edges.

“Don’t-” he swallows, licks rain from his lips, meets Liam’s eyes. “don’t stop.”

It hits Liam so hard his knees almost give out.

He doesn’t stop.

He kisses Zayn again, deeper this time — not rushed, but sure, a long pull that steals breath and gives it back. Zayn’s hands climb to his shoulders, gripping, pulling him closer, fingers curling into the wet fabric like he’s been waiting years to hold him like this.

And maybe he has.

Zayn kisses him with a quiet urgency now — not the storm, but the aftermath. A kind of relief that tastes like heat and trembling laughter pressed into the corner of Liam’s mouth. A kind of joy that’s too raw to speak yet.

When they finally separate, it’s not because they want to.

It’s because they need air.

Their mouths linger close, breath mixing, noses brushing. Zayn opens his eyes slowly, like he’s afraid the world will vanish if he moves too quickly.

And Liam watches him — the rain on his eyelashes, the calm shock on his face, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s relearning how to breathe.

The storm keeps raging — Liam thinks dimly they should probably get inside before they get sick — but the fight inside Liam stops. Every frantic, aching piece of him falling into place against the only person he’s ever wanted to reach. 

They hover there, mouths almost touching again, chests heaving, the storm painting them gold. And for the first time, nothing feels forbidden.

>>>>>

Liam wakes to warmth.

Not the heavy, dizzying heat of last night’s storm, not the frantic pulse of adrenaline still echoing in his bones when he finally collapsed — but something softer. Steadier. Human.

He blinks against the pale morning light spilling through the half-open curtains, honey-gold and quiet in the way only Paris can manage. The rain has stopped; the world outside the hotel window is washed clean, rooftops still glistening.

Something is pressed against his chest, something warm and solid.

A cheek.

Breathing.

Zayn.

It hits him slowly, then all at once — the scent of him, faint smoke and shampoo; the weight of an arm looped loosely around Liam’s waist; the gentle tickle of curls brushing Liam’s chin.

They’re tangled together. Properly tangled.

Legs knotted under the sheets.

One of Zayn’s thighs wedged between Liam’s.

Zayn’s hand still curled in the hem of Liam's T-shirt, like even in sleep he refuses to let go.

For a moment, Liam can’t breathe.

Not in the panicked way from last night.

But in the way someone can’t breathe when the thing they wanted — the thing they never let themselves imagine — is suddenly real enough to touch.

His eyes flick downward.

His battered high-top shoes lie abandoned on the carpet, laces splayed where he toe-kicked them off sometime during the blur between the balcony and getting back to the hotel. Zayn’s cowboy hat is upside down on the armchair, dripping rainwater onto the cushion, like it wandered here on its own.

The sheets smell faintly of hotel laundry and Zayn’s cologne — warm, sharp, familiar.

Zayn shifts in his sleep.

Just barely.

A soft exhale against Liam’s collarbone. A tiny furrow between his eyebrows that smooths out as his arm tightens instinctively around Liam’s waist — like his body recognizes the shape of him even unconscious.

Liam melts.

Actually melts.

He lies there, unmoving, tracing Zayn with greedy, careful eyes.

His lashes — stupidly long, resting against flushed cheeks.

His lips — pinker today, probably from the storm-drenched kisses.

His hair — completely wrecked, flattened in places, sticking up in others.

His breathing — slow, even, peaceful in a way Liam has never been allowed to see before.

Zayn looks young like this. Soft around the edges.

Not the chaotic storm from last night, not the bravado from the party.

Just Zayn.

Barefaced. Warm. Real.

Liam’s heart does something awful and beautiful in his chest.

He lifts a hand — slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the entire moment — and brushes a stray curling strand from Zayn’s forehead. The curl springs back. Liam huffs a breathless laugh, barely audible.

Zayn doesn’t stir.

Liam studies him a little longer, letting himself have this one selfish thing — the privilege of looking. Of memorizing. Of soaking in the morning softness before reality catches up.

The light shifts across Zayn’s face, golden and warm, turning every line and shadow into something sacred. Holy, even.

Liam leans in.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Afraid, somehow, of waking him — and equally afraid of not waking him.

He presses his lips to Zayn’s forehead.

A soft, lingering kiss.

Barely there.

Barely allowed.

But real.

Zayn sighs in his sleep — a tiny sound, content, like the kiss drifted into whatever dream he’s having — and his fingers curl a little tighter into the fabric of Liam’s shirt.

Liam closes his eyes.

And for the first time in years, the world doesn’t feel too loud.

His chest doesn’t feel too full.

Nothing feels like it’s breaking.

Morning comes slow and gentle, and Liam lets it — tucked against Zayn, tangled in sheets and limbs and the aftermath of a storm they finally stopped fighting.

Whatever happens when Zayn wakes…

Whatever comes next…

Liam lets himself stay.

Just for this moment.

Just for this morning.

Because Zayn is warm.

And breathing.

And real.

And wrapped around him like he belongs there.

And Liam has never felt more home.

And as the morning wraps them in gold, Liam finally surrenders to the gravity he’d spent years resisting — Zayn, and his endless orbit.

– fin . –