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Liam knows he's lucky. Every morning he wakes up, and when he sees him - whether it be next to him in bed, or across the room, or hearing him sing in the shower - he's almost knocked over with the feeling of it. The overwhelming swoop from low in his belly to high in his throat, that makes his heart pound against his ribs and a shudder pass through his body. He and Zayn belong to each other, in the purest and most beautiful way. Liam doesn't think he's ever been happier about anything in his life.
Zayn's foot rubs against Liam's leg lazily, their wordless morning greeting, tangled in the sheets and the sunshine shining through the window and each other. Liam replies by skirting his hand on the edge of Zayn's jaw, watching as his eyelids flutter open. They smile at each other, stupid and sweet, before one of their stomachs growl with hunger and they both sigh as they realize they do have to get up at some point.
"Good morning," Liam finally says, his voice a deep rumble. Zayn kisses his throat and mumbles in reply.
"Mmm, morning." The words are said on Liam's neck, lips brushing his skin. "What are we having for breakfast?"
"Some sort of food," Liam sighs, rolling onto his back, but letting his hand rest on Zayn's stomach. "Any ideas?"
"A croissant," Zayn says after a few moments of thought. "A muffin. A danish. A bagel. A -"
"Sounds good," Liam interrupts, yawning. "We can go to the café down the street, the new one."
Zayn nods and stirs a little bit in his position. Liam takes the initiative and gets up, watching Zayn once more. His eyelids are almost translucent in the sunlight that hits them, eyelashes brushing Zayn's cheekbones. His hand is curled in on itself, resting where Liam was just lying. His legs are sprawled, taking up more than half of their bed, hair mussed. Liam turns and looks for some clean clothes, finally finding a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He runs his hand through his hair and sprays himself with Febreeze, deeming himself fit for public. He nudges Zayn's foot with his hand.
"Get up, lazy boy," he chides, picking up Zayn's foot and dropping it onto the bed, it bouncing halfheartedly.
"Mmhfgh," Zayn says, turning over to smush his face in the pillow. "Comfortable."
"Hungry," Liam says as both of their stomachs growl in tandem. "Let's get a move on."
Zayn sighs and gets up, stretching and yawning and trying to regain some semblance of life.
Liam watches as Zayn gets dressed, spraying himself and their room with the same Febreeze to get rid of the smell of sex and to make himself smell fresh.
The two boys drag each other down the stairs and onto the street, the crisp air pinking their cheeks and making them huddle together as they walk to the coffeeshop, hands swinging and making arcs in the air, and Liam keeps his eye on Zayn, watching his beautiful boy as he's trying to wake up on the streets of London with charcoal smeared on his hands and a leather jacket and one hand searching for a fag and a light and Liam doesn't think he's ever been more in love.