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Zayn’s wings start growing in at thirteen, because that’s when everyone’s start growing in. And it doesn’t surprise him, it really doesn’t, he’s been waiting long for the day he gets a pair that matches his mum’s and his dad’s and Doniya’s.
What does surprise him is waking up on a cold morning in the middle of January with a searing pain down between the sharp just of his shoulder blades. It feels like his skin is on fire, like he’s being ripped apart. He jumps out of bed, the burn intensifying with every movement, and manages to make it to his mirror. It’s an awkward angle, trying to look at his back, but he can just manage to see the raw, red skin there and he knows that this must be it.
Nobody who gets their wings ever talks about this part. The pain, the agony, the desire to pluck out every single feather just to so he can go back to that time when every little movement didn’t make him want to pass out or throw up. Zayn pulls through it though because he knows it’ll be worth it in the end. Knows that the pain is a rite of passage he must accomplish before he is fully adorned with a set of powdery white wings.
It takes a while for Zayn to realize that something is wrong. For a few weeks, things seem fine. The pain subsides to a dull ache and his feathers come in soft and grey and downy just as they’re supposed to. But then the down falls away and what’s there to take its place is not glowing and bright like the sun shining on the first snowfall of the year.
His feathers are black. Dark as night like his hair or the charcoal coated on his fingertips or the ink that flows freely from his favorite pen. They gleam in the light but they don’t shine, don’t give off the warmth and comfort that they’re supposed to.
Zayn hates them. Hates the way they glow and flutter and do everything wings are supposed to but look nothing like the way wings should be. He sees the way people shy away from him, see the widening of their eyes and the disgust on their faces because it’s just not natural.
He can’t get rid of them now though. The feathers won’t molt or fall away to reveal bright white ones. Zayn’s stuck with the black, almost sinister feathers for the rest of his life.
His mum shelters him, puts her own sparkling wings around him like warm blanket and tells him they’re lovely and make him who he is. Doniya strokes them softly, watches them preen under her touch and tells him she’s jealous that she doesn’t have something like them to help her stand out.
Zayn doesn’t believe them at all. He knows they’re just trying to comfort him. But he doesn’t miss the way that even they walk a little ways behind him when they’re out in public, like they don’t want to be seen with him, associated with him.
Who could blame them? There’s no way anybody could truly love the boy with the black wings.
--
There is nothing in life Zayn is more grateful for than meeting Louis. Louis doesn’t see his wings, doesn’t see anyone’s wings, because it’s a gift he just doesn’t have. He probably wouldn’t even believe in the wings if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s learned about them from birth and he’s felt the way that Zayn’s flutter under his fingertips.
Louis thinks Zayn is being dumb, that it doesn’t matter what fucking color his wings are, that his wings don’t make him who he is. Zayn just laughs bitterly because Louis doesn’t really understand, doesn’t get that even if he stopped caring, other people wouldn’t, and it’s just so fucking hard when people can’t see anything past the color of his wings.
But even then, Louis is there for him, sticks up for him, and sometimes even makes him feel like it really doesn’t matter. That’s he’s not an anomaly, not a freak. Louis makes him feel normal.
Then Zayn meets Niall and suddenly he remembers why he hates his wings in the first place. Niall has the brightest, purest pair of wings Zayn has ever seen. They practically give off their own light and they shine so fucking much that sometimes it hurts to look at them.
Zayn doesn’t hate Niall, because he’s pretty sure it’s impossible for anyone to hate Niall. Even when Niall’s got his wings safely folded and tucked underneath his shirt, he gives off an energy that captivates everyone around him.
No, Zayn doesn’t hate Niall, but he most definitely hates his wings. Hates them because they’re the wings he never had but always wanted, always looked forward to.
Sometimes, Zayn feels like he deserves the wings he got, that people got their wings based on who they were.
Niall, who is like a beam of sunlight on his own, got wings brighter than anyone else’s.
Louis, who doesn’t give a single fuck about wings, doesn’t care that he doesn’t have them, that he can’t even see them, lives his life happily without them.
Zayn is just like his wings. Black and cold, lacking life and light and brightness. He’s quiet and moody and temperamental; he pushes people away with his steely exterior. He’s underserving of the love that Niall and Louis receive because unlike the both of them, he is not warm and comforting and bright.
He really wishes that he was.
--
Just as people shy away from Zayn and his wings, people tend to flock towards Niall. That’s how they meet Harry.
It’s a warm summer day and they’re at the park, resting underneath a tree that they’ve claimed as their own. Niall’s wings are spread, warming in the sun and fluttering gently in the calm breeze that brushes against them. Even Zayn has his out, and though they’re not stretched as freely as Niall’s, they’re not tucked away underneath his shirt and they’re rejoicing at being able to be out in the warmth and the sun and the open air.
There are people passing by them, often times avoiding staring at Zayn, other times giving him dark looks like they know that Zayn does not belong. Others simply ignore him because they’re so drawn in by the sunlight reflecting off of Niall’s wings. It makes Zayn feel cold despite the heat of the day.
Harry’s jogging past them on the path, but he stops dead as gets closer and his eyes fall on Niall’s spread wings.
“Can we help you, mate?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow as Harry continues to stare in fascination.
Harry’s cheeks, already a bit pink from his workout, blush further. “Um, no, sorry. Just your wings. They’re, uh, quite lovely.”
“They are quite nice, aren’t they?” Niall replies, smiling cheekily.
“Could I feel them?”
Harry doesn’t really wait for an answer as he takes a seat next to Niall, cross-legged. He reaches out a hand tentatively and strokes at the soft white feathers at the tips of Niall’s wings.
Niall’s eyes fall closed blissfully and his wings preen under Harry’s touch, stretching out farther as if to get closer to Harry’s fingertips. Harry’s eyes widen in captivation at Niall’s reaction.
He sort of falls in with them naturally after that. It’s obvious that Harry is drawn to Niall’s wings, but he seems to be even more drawn in to Niall in general. He looks at Niall like he’s the single point the whole universe orbits around. And to Harry he probably is.
Zayn has a hard time accepting Harry’s friendship. Sometimes he feels that Harry has an aversion to him, like he gives the same looks to Zayn that he’s grown used to from people who see nothing but his wings. It’s hard to miss the flits of disgust that pass in his eyes and Zayn understands, because next to Niall his wings look even worse than they usually do.
Niall says he’s being ridiculous. He says that Harry finds Zayn’s wings just as fascinating as his, just in a different way. Niall thinks it’s all in Zayn’s head, that he expects people to see him in a bad light, so that’s all he can imagine when they pass a look in his direction.
Sometimes Zayn almost believes him, starts to think that the looks Harry is giving him aren’t of disgust but of wonderment. But those moments are fleeting and Zayn goes back to remembering that nobody has ever looked at him that way, and nobody ever will.
--
That day they meet Harry, Zayn goes back to his flat feeling unbalanced. There’s something wrong. His wings are tilting to the side just a little and it feels weird to walk, like he’s going to fall over at any second. It’s not a huge difference, but it’s enough to cause Zayn discomfort, especially because he’s not exactly sure what it is.
He looks at himself in the mirror, much like the day of his thirteenth birthday, and it takes a while, but he finds the problem. In the middle of his right wing, there is a feather missing. It’s hardly noticeable to an outsider, but now that he’s spotted it, he can’t believe he didn’t it notice before. The wings are sensitive to an extent that it’s almost ridiculous. Zayn’s surprised it took so long to pin down the problem.
It’s a bit disconcerting. The feathers aren’t supposed to fall off anymore, they’re not supposed to shed or molt or anything. They’re a permanent fixture, destined to be with Zayn forever.
Zayn wonders what it means that one’s suddenly gone missing.
--
He meets Liam on the day he gets fired from work.
His boss takes him aside that day, looks at him with sympathetic eyes that mostly hide his fear as they dart towards Zayn’s dark feathers, and tells him that he has to let him go. There’s been too many complaints. People are leaving the restaurant because they don’t want the “freak with the black wings” touching their food.
Zayn leaves sullen and angry, wings stuffed unceremoniously underneath his t-shirt. They’re struggling to get out, aggravated and restless because of Zayn’s sour mood and they want nothing more than to be free.
He can’t let them out though. He doesn’t want the attention at the moment and he wishes that they would just go away. If only all the feathers could wilt like the one that mysteriously went missing.
Thankfully it’s late and the streets are mostly empty. Barely anybody passes by Zayn and he’s glad to avoid the sneers that he’s usually met with. He’s walking with his head down, barely paying attention to where he’s going as his feet walk almost mechanically on the familiar path back to his flat.
That’s probably why he doesn’t notice Liam, rushing around the corner as if he’s late to an important meeting. They collide face first, and Zayn’s thrown back because of the impact. He lands hard on his bum, hands and arms scraping against the sidewalk as they try to break his fall. His wings take the opportunity to finally free themselves, and a shiver goes through them like they’re happy to be out of the prison of Zayn’s shirt.
There’s a sharp intake of a breath and then a, “Shit, I’m really sorry.”
Zayn picks himself off the ground gingerly, brushing off his pants, and straightening out a feather or two that became crooked when he fell. “Nah, it’s okay, mate. Should’ve looked where I was going.”
He finally looks up at the boy he ran into and oh. Liam’s standing there, eyes wide, and for once, Zayn doesn’t see horror or disgust or any of those things. He sees the fasciation that Niall claims that Harry has and it’s so palpable on Liam’s face that Zayn really can’t deny it.
More than that though, Zayn just sees brightness. If Niall shines bright like the sun, Liam shines bright like every fucking star in the universe concentrated into one spot. His light is blinding and his warmth is almost suffocating. Zayn’s never met anyone like him before.
“Your wings are black,” he says reach out a hand like he’s trying to wrap his fingers around Zayn’s feathers.
Zayn instinctually shies away from the touch, but Liam is faster than him, and his fingertips make contact with the tip of his right wing, the one that’s unbalanced. He strokes it softly and the feathers flutter gently.
Zayn feels his touch everywhere, in his bones and in his veins and down his spine and in the beating of his heart. It’s comforting and familiar even though he’s never met Liam before in his life.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He intends to make the comment snippy, cold, but Liam’s still running his fingers over his feathers hesitantly and it calms him down so that the words come out almost half-jokingly.
Liam backs away suddenly, hands falling to his side, and Zayn almost let’s out an embarrassing whine at the lack of contact.
“Sorry, that was a bit forward of me,” he says, cheeks pink. “Erm. I’m Liam. Your wings really are cool though. Very different. I like them.”
“Zayn. And thanks, I guess. First person I’ve heard say that, to be honest,” Zayn says with a small half-smile.
“You definitely deserve to hear it more often,” Liam beams, and if Zayn thought Liam was bright before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks when he smiles. Liam looks down at his watch for a second and swears. “Shit, I’m really late. I’ll catch you around, Zayn.”
He leaves in a rush, just as he came, with one last fleeting look to where Zayn is still standing, a bit shell-shocked at what just happened.
--
It’s funny because after that Zayn starts seeing Liam everywhere. And maybe it’s a coincidence but he doesn’t really mind. They talk and they laugh and Zayn realizes that everything about Liam is bright and warm and absolutely perfect to the point that sometimes he has trouble breathing because how is Liam even real.
Liam is absolutely enthralled with Zayn’s wings, always touching them, begging Zayn to let them out from under his shirt because he just wants to see them and take them in. Zayn doesn’t understand because no one has ever expressed such positivity to his wings before and it’s new and it’s frightening and it’s hard to believe.
Zayn still feels worried sometimes, like one day Liam is going to decide that he doesn’t like Zayn’s wings anymore, that he finds them just as abnormal as everyone else, and that he’s going to leave because of it. Zayn doesn’t think he can handle that. Liam is everything he’s not, open and inviting and warm and the thought of not having him in his life anymore scares Zayn.
They’re at the park one day, just the two of them, underneath the same tree where Zayn first met Harry, almost a year ago. It’s another warm summer day and Liam’s convinced Zayn to let his wings out, let them breathe and feel the sun for a while.
It’s comforting, sitting there, Liam stroking his feathers softly and sending little shivers of pleasures through every nerve in his body. If Zayn could stay like this for the rest of his life, chatting idly with Liam and warming his wings, he would be happy.
Zayn should’ve figured that the moment of bliss wouldn’t last very long. They’re under the tree, Liam’s head in Zayn’s lap, hand reached out and stroking at his wings almost instinctually, when a couple passes by them on the path, both of their wings out, shining bright underneath the sun.
“Do you see that kids wings?”
“Yeah. Disgusting. What a freak.”
Zayn’s used to the comments, has become a bit desensitized to them because he just hears them all the bloody time. It’s all new to Liam on the other hand, and he tenses, grip tightening on his hold onto Zayn’s wing.
“Fuck, babe, that hurts,” Zayn winces, trying to pry Liam’s fingers from around his feathers.
“Sorry,” Liam apologizes, letting go quickly with a sheepish grin at Zayn. But then he’s looking after the couple again, jaw clenched and angry. “Who the fuck do they think they are? Going around saying stuff like that. What dicks.”
“It’s okay, Liam. I hear it all the time. I’m sort of used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” Liam exclaims. “Zayn it’s not true. You’re not a freak. It shouldn’t matter what color your wings are because you shine brighter than any of those other jerks.”
Zayn shakes his head, bemused. He knows it’s not true, knows that Liam is only saying that. Zayn doesn’t shine at all. He’s dark and lackluster, nothing at all like Liam himself. “How about we just go back to my flat, Liam? Don’t really feel like being out here anymore.”
Liam’s still glaring after the retreating couple but he nods. “Uh, yeah. Sounds good.”
They make the short walk back to Zayn’s flat in silence and it’s not until they’ve walked through the door that Liam finally says something.
“You don’t actually believe them do you?”
Zayn looks up from where’s sitting on the couch, taking his shoes off. “What do you mean?”
“The people who say you’re a freak. Do you believe them?”
Zayn shrugs, his wings fluttering a bit nervously behind him. “They’re right aren’t they? This isn’t exactly normal, the whole black wings things.”
Liam’s eyes are hard and angry and Zayn’s a bit worried because he’s never really seen him like this before. The light around him that Zayn usually sees is more of a slow burn now, powerful and passionate. “Just because it’s not normal doesn’t mean that you’re a freak, Zayn. Fuck. I just. Do you even understand how beautiful you are? How beautiful your wings are? The way they shine is something else entirely. Unlike anyone else’s. It’s actually unbelievable.”
“That’s not true, Liam. I know it’s not true. You don’t have to convince me otherwise. I see the way that people look at me. Like I’m not supposed to be this way, like I’m unnatural or something. And yeah, I don’t like it, and it definitely hurts sometimes, that not even my sisters can look at me like a normal human being, but it’s something I’ve come to accept,” Zayn explains, his own anger starting to flare.
Why can’t Liam see who he really is? Why is Liam so determined to see the good and the beauty in him? There is no good. No beauty. Just fucking ugly black feathers that set him apart from everyone else.
Liam’s marching towards him, fire in his eyes, and he pulls Zayn off the couch roughly. For a fleeting second Zayn’s afraid that Liam’s going to hit him, but instead Liam fists his hands into the fabric of his shirt, and pulls him closer, closing the gap between them completely.
The kiss is a clash of teeth and rough lips and hands that won’t loosen their grip. Zayn’s caught by surprise and it takes him a moment to respond, to start kissing back, just as harshly and desperately as Liam is.
When Liam pulls away, Zayn lets out a whine of disapproval. Liam’s breathing is ragged, eyes closed and forehead resting against Zayn’s. “How do I make you see yourself the same way I see you?”
Zayn tries desperately to bury the lump in the back of his throat and loosen the tightening in his chest. He kisses Liam again, more softly, slowly.
“I don’t think you can.”
--
The relationship is hard for both of them because no matter what Liam says or does Zayn just can’t believe him. There is no way that someone as beautiful and pure as Liam could ever find someone like Zayn, who’s been tainted with a terrible curse, as perfect as he claims to.
Zayn can see the frustration growing inside of Liam, the wariness. Zayn doesn’t want to push him away, he wants to believe Liam, but can’t. Not after being told for so long that everything about who he is is just pure wrong.
When they don’t talk about it, it’s fine. Zayn loves being with Liam, feeling his touches and kisses and hearing his voice and his breathing. He never tires of the way it feels when Liam is on top of him, inside him, stretching him and making him feel completely full. The sensation is heightened when Liam refuses to let go of his wings, always insists on having a hand gripped tightly onto his feathers to the point where Zayn is constantly teetering on the brink of pleasure and pain.
But as soon as Liam breathes out his praises, how beautiful he finds Zayn, how lovely he is, Zayn shuts down. It hurts to hear because no matter how many times Liam repeats the words, he knows they won’t be true.
The two of them are in bed one morning, Liam cuddled into Zayn’s chest, Zayn’s wings wrapped around them both, sheltering them the same way his mum’s used to when he was young.
“Zayn,” Liam says, in between peppering kisses on his collarbones.
Zayn hums in reply, too sleepy and content to fully answer.
“I love you.”
There’s a beat of silence where Zayn completely freezes. No. Why would Liam be saying that? Why would he ruin the calm of the morning like that?
“Liam-“
“Zayn, save it,” Liam cuts him off. “I know what I’m saying, Zayn. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, it’s still true.”
“You can’t.”
“What do you mean I can’t? I bloody well can Zayn, and I do. I think I always have in a way,” Liam says, propping himself up one arm and glaring at him.
Zayn closes his eyes, tilting his head back in frustration. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t deserve this. There’s no reason for someone like Liam to think that they’re in love with someone as broken and frail as he is.
“You don’t want to love me, Liam. What is there to love? I’m just a –“
“Don’t you dare call yourself a freak, Zayn Malik.”
“But that’s what I am!” Zayn exclaims, eyes flying open to glance at Liam. “We’re not supposed to be this way, Liam. Not supposed to look this way. People with wings are supposed to shine bright. Wings are supposed to be white, full of warmth. Not like these things that I have.”
“God dammit, Zayn, you do shine. Your wings give off more light than anything else I’ve ever seen. They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I just want to make you understand how much they mean to me – how much you mean to me.”
Zayn’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, refusing to believe a single word that comes out of Liam’s mouth. Everything Liam says is directly against the things that have been thrown his way since he turned thirteen. It’s impossible that what he’s saying could be true.
“How can my wings be beautiful, Li? They’re not even complete.”
Liam furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Zayn turns his right wing a bit, giving Liam the perfect to angle to see the gap in his feathers. It never grew back, and it was more like the space has just been waiting to be filled all this time.
Liam eyes widen as he runs his fingers over the space softly. “Fuck.”
He gets out of bed without another word, leaving Zayn there, cold and alone. The whole room is darker without his presence. There’s a slam when the door closes and Zayn groans, turning to bury his face in his pillow. It still smells of Liam’s citrus shampoo.
Zayn’s not exactly sure how long he lies there, willing for Liam to come back and knowing that he won’t. Maybe it’s better this way. Zayn’s world may be a bit darker, but it’s not like he deserves anything less. Maybe this way Liam will have the chance to find someone that truly does burn as brightly as he does.
It hurts though, knowing that Liam is gone. He feels weak, empty without Liam’s presence. There was nothing like the comfort that Liam brought him. His wings flutter weakly like they’re saddened by his loss.
Hours (or maybe days or months or possibly even years) later, Zayn hears the door open, and the soft footsteps that he’s come to identify with Liam.
Zayn turns around, props himself on his elbows as Liam walks into his bedroom. He’s frowning but even then Zayn feels warmer again, more full of life.
“Zayn,” he says before crawling onto the bed, straddling Zayn’s hips and pinning him down. Liam puts his hands on either side of Zayn’s face, kissing him softly, tenderly, and Zayn returns the gesture with fervor, fearing that it might be the last time he feels Liam’s lips on his.
“I have something I want to show you,” Liam says, breaking apart from him.
Zayn raises an eyebrow, reasonably curious to what Liam has for him. What he could possibly want to show him at a time like this.
Liam takes a small box out of his back pocket and Zayn’s eyes widen because that can’t possibly be what he thinks it is, could it? But no, it’s not the right shape for a ring, it’s longer, narrower, more like the velvet boxes his mum would put her gold necklaces in.
With a soft smile, Liam opens the box and Zayn gasps when he sees what’s inside. It’s a feather, black and shiny, the exact color of his wings. It looks to be preserved perfectly, and Zayn refuses to believe that it’s what he thinks it is.
“Is that -?”
“I think so,” Liam says, smile growing, his light intensifying. He takes the feather out of the box carefully, grabbing onto Zayn’s wings as he does so. “I found it in the park a little over a year ago. Wasn’t really sure why I kept it, just thought it was really beautiful I guess. Glad I did now.”
He finds the gap in Zayn’s wings and runs his fingers over it again, just as he did before. But then he takes the feather, slots it back into place perfectly and the slight unbalance that Zayn has felt all this time suddenly disappears. Everything feels perfectly aligned once again.
Zayn’s wing flutter happily, content to be completed again, brought back together with its missing piece after all that time.
“What does this mean?” Zayn asks, running his thumb gently over the curve of Liam’s cheekbone.
Liam shrugs. He covers Zayn’s hand in his own. Brings it to his lips, kisses his fingertips, his palm, the underside of his wrist. “I don’t know, Zayn. But it means something, right? That I’ve had your feather this whole time? You can’t tell me it doesn’t mean something.”
He can’t. This is something not even Zayn can deny. And maybe it means something that he’s known all along – that he’s not complete without Liam. Liam is his missing piece. The sunshine to his darkness, the flame that warms the cold he feels inside.
“I guess it does, but Liam –“
“No buts,” Liam interrupts, continuing with his trail of kisses, leaving them on Zayn’s hips, up his stomach and chest and to his collarbone, “Zayn, please just let me love you.”
Zayn sighs into Liam’s mouth as his own is enveloped into a kiss. Their lips move together seamlessly, like they were meant to do nothing more than what they’re doing at that moment.
When they part, Zayn takes a deep breath, his heart is beating fast and he feels a tingle down to the bottom of his toes. His wings are fluttering fast and with excitement. He’s not sure if he can do this, let Liam love him the way he wants. But maybe it’s worth a chance.