Work Text:
If there is a 1% chance of something horrible happening, it will surely happen to Liam Payne.
It began with his underdeveloped kidney and the months he spent being ill in hospital. Maybe if that hadn’t happened, it would have been easier for him to relate to kids his own age and not gravitate towards the adults earning him disdain from his classmates. There was name-calling and pushing long before his bullies realized that it gratified them more to leave bruises with their fists.
So, at the age of twelve, when Liam is sitting down beside his mum and dad to find out who his soulmate is, he’s honestly expecting for his wrist to be blank. It happens. Rare, of course, but Liam has learned to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when things turn out his way rather than be continuously disappointed. His mum considers him too young to be a pessimist, but she’s got two working kidneys, doesn’t she?
Instead of a clock marked with Xs which would show that he has no soulmate or a blank clock that would indicate his soulmate is not of age yet, he feels a jolt as two countdowns begin. He doesn’t have one soulmate but two.
3 years, 5 hours and 1 minute from now, Liam will meet the person he is meant to spend the rest of his life with. Six years and change later, he will meet the second. His mum’s eyes are round and her breathing shallow as she stares down at the timers but she pastes on what is meant to be a reassuring smile and tells him that it will be okay.
As his family adjusts to the information, he hears less about it being okay and more about how lucky he is. It’s a great gift, his father tells him, to be able to be loved completely and unconditionally by two people. His sister jokes that he can always spend time with soulmate #2 when the first is annoying him. After all, being soulmates doesn’t mean that the relationship won’t have its trials. It will be easier than it would be with anyone else as their personalities and souls complement one another, but life and its complications still happen.
Liam wants to believe his family and take the positive outlook for once on not being normal, but all he can think is that his soul is so damaged and misshapen that he needs two people to make a whole one. It’s confusing and frustrating. He wishes he could just have one soulmate and live happily ever after, but there are moments lying in bed, right before drifting off to sleep, when he thinks that it could be quite cool, having two people who will never leave him.
Meeting a soulmate is momentous. It is the most important event in a person’s life, even above the birth of their children, because it is considered the moment where life as they’ll know it begins.
The entire family tries to get together to view the first meeting but, again, life gets in the way. The week Liam is to meet his soulmate, his clock ticking down to 2 days, 7 hours and 46 minutes, no one has any attention to spare on his love life. His grandmother dies in her sleep, life snuffed out like a whisper, and the whole family is rocked by it. Grandma Laura was a fixture in their home every Sunday dinner and, though she teased him relentlessly, she made Liam feel less abnormal. He’ll miss her but it’s harder for him to see his father, so jovial and friendly, suddenly lose his luster.
It’s the first time they’ve seen their father cry and all of the kids are unsure of how to comfort him. They do their best to keep their squabbles to a minimum and help out around the house without being asked, but Liam is finally understanding what it feels like to have one bad situation overshadowing everything else. He notices the time clicking down, hears the ding that tells him it’s the day he’ll meet #1, but he can’t bring himself to be excited or filled with any sort of anticipation. The sight of the clock fast approaching zero is a reminder of how he will never spend another moment with his grandmother again, and he focuses on getting ready for the day instead.
It’s past 11 a.m., and he goes downstairs to find his mum in the kitchen debating between a chicken casserole and meatloaf pie to reheat for her and his dad. She looks tired and worn out. He wonders if she feels the echo of his dad’s pain or if it’s just feeling useless that’s done her in. Either way, he comes up and gives her a hug before suggesting the casserole. They must have 5 stuck in the fridge, so they better get to work on getting rid of them.
“Oh, dear, can you run to the store and get me some of your da’s favorite jam? We’ve run out,” Karen asks, and Liam marvels for a moment at what would happen if he said no. Because his dad is in pain and his mum is weary and the house is full of disquiet. It’s the most inconvenient time for him to go meet his soulmate, he thinks, and he can’t say no when his mother’s shoulders are slumped and her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy.
“Sure, mum,” he says and she hands him her bank card and the list of a few other things she needs. He gives her a peck on the cheek and calls out to his dad that he’ll be back soon before starting the short walk to the store. Luckily, they only live a ten minute walk from the market, the perfect distance to make getting a snack accessible without it being so easy that he loads up on junk food.
He’s grabbing the dark hot chocolate his mum prefers over tea when he feels a sharp pain in his wrist. He nearly drops the box but it fumbles into his cart as he goes to wrap his other hand around his wrist and run a thumb over the clock that has timed down to zero. He looks to the left and sees no one, but when he turns right…
There he is. This slip of a thing with curly hair and red cheeks that stand out starkly against his pale skin. He is especially thin compared to Liam who boxes three times a week - five, this one. It’s much easier to fall asleep after he’s worn himself out exercising than it is to stand uselessly by while his dad falls apart. The boy walks up to him and his eyes are dim but for a tiny spark.
“Hi, I’m Harry,” he says extending his hand for Liam to shake.
“Liam.” They stand in silence for a few moments until Liam breaks it to point out, “this is awkward. I thought it’d be…”
“Yeah,” Harry agrees.
He doesn’t offer anything, though, and Liam’s phone is buzzing in his pocket, probably his mum. He asks Harry to hold on for a moment and takes the call. “Yeah, mum?” He answers. His mum rattles off a list of things she forgot to put on the sheet. The call is short but he apologizes to Harry for making him wait anyway.
“Can we… let’s exchange numbers and I’ll give you a call?” Harry can say no if he wants. Harry is cute, resembling a cherub angel and it’s not exactly attractive to Liam, but it is endearing. And his thin wrists and slow, deep breathing make Liam wish he’d brought a pullover to offer him. But Liam is dressed in jeans that are wearing thin at the knees and a gray t-shirt. He doesn’t look horrible but Harry, whose jeans have creases and whose hair looks artfully messy, clearly wanted this moment to be special. Liam feels painfully average in front of him.
Harry is pulling out his phone already though, blush still high on his cheeks, and Liam wonders why this boy with the floppy hair and easy smile isn’t enough for him, why he would ever need something else. It’s not a love at first sight thing. It’s just… he seems so very kind and Liam is simple. He doesn’t need much, and he expects even less.
“And it’s okay if I call you tonight?” Harry asks.
Liam nods and Harry waves and Liam is leaving without any fanfare or the thrum of instant connection. Maybe the reason it doesn't work out and he’ll needs another soulmate later on is Harry can't bring himself to want Liam. It's an understandable lack of interest, really, and Liam only finds himself slightly disappointed that he isn't really the one for Harry. Maybe he's got two soulmates as well. Maybe there was a mistake.
Liam enters his house and decides not to tell anyone he's met #1. His dad is watching the game with his sisters leaning on the couch at his feet. He sits down next to them after putting away the groceries and tries to put this whole soulmate business out of his head. His dad, one of the four most important people in his life, needs him right now and that’s all he can focus on.
But as time goes on and the heavy weight of grief lifts from the house, Harry becomes the fifth on his speed dial. It creeps up on him: wanting to do his best to make Harry smile, wanting to hear his voice before he falls asleep and when he wakes up and when he’s got good news or bad or no news at all. Harry is light, and he’s simple just like Liam. He lets Liam talk for hours, only humming to show he’s still listening and Liam starts to enjoy that his sheets smell a bit of Harry after he’s spent the night over. With the door open, of course.
Spending every spare moment together makes it hard not to notice certain things though. The way Harry will disappear for days at a time only to come back with skin pallid and somehow even thinner than he was before. The way his voice will come out hoarse and raspy as if he’s spent the evening before at a concert, though he is hardly allowed out as it is, or how Harry constantly washes his hands e=but gets sick more and more anyway.
He’d asked Harry once what was wrong, eyes serious, the rest of his face doing his best rendition of his mum’s face when he’s got a secret. Harry had said he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And so, they didn’t. Karen sends Harry sad looks over the dinner table, and Harry’s parents look relieved whenever he and Liam get home from a hangout. What is happening to Harry is the elephant in the room that he is sure everyone else has identified. All anyone will tell him, though, is that he needs to hear it from Harry.
So, Liam tries to nudge Harry into opening up without pressuring him.
He takes him to the local beach, sitting them down on the rocks to look out at the ocean, and takes off the bracelet that covers his marks. He fingers the second clock and tries to ignore Harry stiffening as he begins to explain.
He huffs out a humourless chuckle. “I used to think I wouldn’t have a soulmate at all, and then I had two. I’ve been so scared to tell you. I don’t want you thinking I don’t love you the way I ought. You’re mine, Harry. And I’m yours.” He looks up at Harry for the first time. Harry’s eyes are frozen on the second clock, jaw tight. “I want you to know… everything. And no matter who she or he is, we can make it work, I promise. I want to be with you forever.”
Harry looks up then, the movement making his tears fall. “But you won’t. This…” He swallows. “This means that I’m not going to beat it. Lymphoma. I’m going to die and, and you’ll find…” He can’t bring himself to say it. He swallows again and shifts his gaze out to the ocean.
His brow is slightly furrowed and Liam feels small and stupid. All of the signs were there; he knew it must be very bad for Harry not to tell him, open as he usually is about everything else. Harry is going to leave him after all. “I love you,” he says because he doesn’t have anything else to offer. He doesn’t think life has ever been this cruel. He would give his only good kidney to make this go away.
“I love you, too. It’s, I’m happy,” he turns back with a smile. “I always felt bad for you, you know.” He nudges Liam. “I wouldn’t want you to be alone.” Harry is selfless and kind and Liam’s heart is breaking with how much he loves him. Harry takes his hand and says, again, “I’m happy, really.”
Now that Liam knows, he’s with Harry in hospital through the chemotherapy treatments replenishing his supply of ice chips and at home brushing a cool, damp towel on his head and tucking him into bed when he vomits. He is with him every morning before school and every evening, alternating between doing his homework and taking care of Harry. He understands now why Harry is homeschooled; he doubts that he could make it up a single flight of stairs right now. Liam is there through it at all.
He’s not so happy near the end. He’s in pain and resentful. Liam goes to bed the nights when Harry yells at him, “What do you care? You’re going to live, Liam. You’re going to fall in love with someone else and forget all about me.” He prays that those won’t be the last words he hears from him and is always grateful when Harry apologizes the next day.
“I don’t know if I could do that,” Liam confesses to Roo one day. “Tell Harry it’s alright to love someone else after I’m gone. I mean, I’d hope he would someday but it’s different knowing, right? The clock’s there for him to see.”
Roo shrugs. “He might forget it when he’s in pain but that’s your soulmate, Liam. He wants you happy.”
Liam tries to remind himself of that when the guilt overcomes him. He should live alone the rest of his life if he can’t be with Harry. What kind of heart is so fickle that it has two soulmates? He cries, and he works out until his knuckles bleed. He just wants Harry to be healthy. He finds himself glaring at his second clock in absent moments, a constant reminder that no matter how hard he wishes it, Harry won’t be getting better. He checks in on Harry right before he goes to bed. Harry sleeps more and more these days, and the conversations are always short now. But Liam can’t sleep without saying he loves Harry, and even then, he’s often restless and finds himself in the kitchen with his mum and a cup of cocoa. They never say much, but it’s comforting all the same.
Harry dies on an early Saturday morning. The night before, he’d laughed and teased and made Liam forget for a moment that they had anything to fear, and in the morning, he was gone.
↴
Zayn remembers the smoke, the man in yellow pulling him out from under the bed and the burning chill of the air against his hot skin. He remembers how his mummy smelt of apples, oak and lavender and how loud she would laugh when she smacked his baba’s hand away from her desserts. He remembers his hand being put on his mum’s belly and being given the charge of protecting his little sister. He remembers how his shoulders squared. He does not remember his birthday, and no one can tell him.
He’s small for his age, thin from never feeling comfortable enough with his foster families to eat his fill, and quiet from always being shushed. He does his schoolwork. He keeps his room so tidy that it looks unlived in to avoid Mr. Cowell’s yelling, though he has yet to raise his voice with him, and he dreams of the home he’ll have when he’s grown up. In school, they say if you go to college, you can have anything, be anything, even if you start from nothing.
Ms. Tomlinson played Homeless to Harvard in class one day, and Zayn thought: I can do that. He can and he will, he promises himself. After that, he throws himself into studying in ways he hadn’t before. Why study when he’ll just end up working at the grocery store or something, right? But now he has dreams, aspirations, and he has to believe that he can make them come true. There must be a reason he’s lost everything but his name. He can’t be in this world only to suffer.
So, he pours over his books and gets into advanced placement classes. Mr. Cowell doesn’t look nearly as stern with him. He always talked about Zayn needing to “apply himself”, and Zayn understands now that this is what it looks like. And now that Mr. Cowell has gentled his tone, realizing that Zayn doesn’t respond well to reprimands like his other boys have, the knots in Zayn’s stomach loosen, and he starts to relax. He starts to feel comfortable, though not at home. He’ll never allow himself to feel that.
There is little fanfare about his soulmate when Zayn gets his clock. He races into Mr. Cowell’s office with a calendar and is pointing at the date, shouting, “It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” Zayn is small still from years of not eating well enough, looking more like a small eleven year old than an average twelve year old, but he doesn’t care. It’s his birthday. January 12. His face is bright with glee, his heart pumping with joy, and Mr. Cowell is doing a victory dance with him and then… he starts to cry.
He hasn’t cried since he first understood that no one was coming to get him, and this, it’s something so simple that anyone should know. A birthday. But seeing the date on the calendar and the clock on his hand, he feels lost and alone like he did then. This is something that he should be celebrating with his mum and baba, with Doniya and the little baby that had been growing in his mum. But all he has is Mr. Cowell, who has his arms wrapped tight around him and is making nonsensical comforting noises, and he doesn’t even have him.
When he’s stopped crying, Mr. Cowell sits him down in his office chair, he on his knees in front of Zayn. His hands are large on Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn is still gasping from the effort of swallowing his sobs. “Zayn,” he says. His voice is serious and Zayn sniffles as he sits up and tries to pay attention.
“You know that I love you?” Zayn nods. It’s something Mr. Cowell started to say a few months back, five months into his stay here, when Zayn left to catch the school bus. It’s a nice thing to have, Mr. Cowell’s love. Mr. Cowell said it means he wants Zayn to be happy and that he’ll take care of Zayn no matter what. “I would like it if you would become my son.” Zayn’s eyes get wide and his breath catches in his throat. “That would mean that you will always have a home with me, Zayn. Even when you grow up and have a family of your own. Is that something you would want?”
Mr. Cowell’s hands have tightened and the lines of his forehead are scrunched together. “Could I…” He stops because that’s asking too much, isn’t it? He presses his lips together. He shouldn’t be greedy.
“No, what is it, Zayn?” His voice, soft and unsure before, takes on the tone he uses when he asks to see Zayn’s homework to check that it’s completed correctly.
“Could I call you Da?” He murmurs.
“Zayn.” He pulls him into another hug, almost suffocating, and says, “I’d like that very much.”
Zayn settles in quite nicely after that. He’s louder and freer with his words and, yes, he may have acted up purposely at times to test boundaries. But Mr. Cowell -- no, his Da -- said that was normal, and he forgives him every time, telling Zayn in no uncertain terms that he can never do anything that will make him stop loving him or make him send him away. Zayn starts to believe him. He stops tensing when he makes genuine mistakes and stops looking for ways that mean his Da doesn’t really love him as much as he would if he was blood.
He starts to believe things are going to be okay.
And they are. He has nine years and eight months until he meets his soulmate, and he doesn’t even think on it much. He’s not restless like Shahid or uncaring like Ant. He just enjoys the present too much. He’s afraid sometimes that it will all be taken away. He’s not worried about Da giving him up, doubts he could live without him at this point, but there’s no stopping death. He’s got Da on a strict diet and exercise routine for his heart and his da’s got him in singing and painting classes because “you worry too much.” They take care of each other.
He’s 19 and going off to college in America, and he wants this. He needs to give himself the best education, and his Da agrees. But he worries that he won’t mix the blend of fruits and veggies Zayn makes for him every morning to take to work with him. It actually tastes good, so he won’t have a reason to avoid it, but Da is notoriously against anything that’s good for him, a holdover from his childhood, he tells Zayn. And Zayn won’t be there to nag him until he chooses the chicken over beef. He’ll be in Boston at Williams College double majoring in English and Art History and Studio Art. He isn’t sure yet whether he wants to teach English or Art, but both have been tools he’s used to express himself and decompress. He’s not as used to discussing his feelings and insecurities or finding comfort in conversation as he is with putting them on canvas or finding the mirror of his issues in a novel.
Da once helped him through a steady presence and stern but loving attitude. He wants to help the kids who don’t have a resource at home like that. He wants to give them hope like Ms. Tomlinson did for him and the type of comfort that comes from creativity and imagination.
It’s the first time he’s left a home knowing he always has an invitation back (and he’s going to be back for summer and winter vacations regardless), but he hesitates to walk away from his Da at the airport. He doesn’t know what to ask for, can’t put this need into words so he gives him a tight hug, takes a deep breath and pretends to be more confident about this move. Fake it ‘til you make it and such.
His room is a standard issue dorm room, straight out of the movies. There are door signs with his and his roommate’s names. The walls are freshly painted, and there’s a bathroom that he and his roommate will share with the room beside them and another sink and mirror in the room. There are two dressers and a closet, and Zayn breathes a sigh of relief knowing that he won’t be living in a hovel. Now, he only has to worry that his roommate is a psycho.
He unpacks his suitcases which is filled with all of the clothes he could roll tight enough to fit. His Da has sent him blankets, toiletries, pillows and such that should arrive by this evening. He’s got a credit card with free reign to buy whatever else he likes as long as he stays within his budget, a perk from his Da for getting a free ride at such a good school. Also likely due to Zayn being more responsible with money than a teenager has any right to be.
But he’s not uptight. It’s that he knows what it’s like to want, and he doesn’t want to take more than he needs. He’d hate to be a burden, and if his dad wants to spend thousands of dollars on him, Zayn would rather have it go to the local orphanages than him getting a load of updated gadgets he doesn’t need. He’s only recently upgraded from a flip phone to an iPhone 6 at his Da’s urging. FaceTime is apparently more convenient than Skype.
He’s laying on his bare bed having skipped orientation to nap when his roommate comes in. The voice is heavily-accented and soft, but it nevertheless jars him awake. He sits up to see a brown-haired boy with a band T-shirt, ripped jeans and Vans on carrying in three boxes and murmuring into his headset.
The guy looks over at him and says a bit louder, “Have to go. Roommate’s up… Yeah, ‘course, mate.” He hangs up, sets the boxes on his nightstand and flops onto his bed to look at Zayn. “So, you’re disgustingly attractive, Zayn Malik, which is good ‘cause I only associate with pretty people.”
Zayn cracks a smile. “I feel so lucky,” he says tiredly.
They’re fast friends after that, finding common interests in music, similar humors and nostalgia for England. There’s a running contest of best pranks each floor can pull, and Louis and Zayn have won the past four semesters in a row. By the time he’s 21, they’re close enough that they meet up every two weeks to hang out. The drive from Doncaster to Bradford isn’t that far but Zayn doesn’t drive, and they spend enough time during the year that it’s alright that summers are always busy with something else. They’ve each got their internships along with a project that Zayn is ridiculously excited for.
He thought it up during a talk with his adviser, Watson, and with knowing celebrities sell their signed autographs and belongings to raise money for charity all the time. He’s no celebrity himself, but he is the son of a world-renowned producer. He knows Da is famous and Zayn himself has a bit of a following due to his good looks and random, just-for-fun performances, but it’s never been something he’s tried to use for his own gain. Even using it for others’, he’s earned the respect of everyone he’s going to work with on his own. Somehow.
It started as a running joke with Louis and has turned into a fully-fledged project. Musicians, producers and lyricists have donated their talents to create a CD that will have 100% of the proceeds going towards funding the only orphanage in Bradford that caters to children with learning and physical disabilities. Zayn will auction off original art he’ll create of the participators. He didn’t believe that his work was good enough, to be honest, but he couldn’t find an artist to take his place, and so there was nothing left to do but convince everyone to sit for him.
Zayn is only 21 and so close to realizing one of the three dreams he has for himself. He has to stop and catch his breath every now when he thinks about it. An event like this unsupported by his da’s funds wasn’t something he thought was possible for him. Now that it is, he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes.
He’s busy and excited and too preoccupied with his successes to notice that the day he meets his soulmate is arriving quickly.
↴
Liam isn’t sure why he’s here. There are actual people here who are well-known and respected in the industry, and then there’s Liam. He’s sat next to Sia for goodness’ sake. He breaks out into a cold sweat, but he’s got a straight face on as he chats with Sia. He’d gotten this e-mail (accidentally?) asking him to participate in this charity event for orphaned kids, and who doesn’t want to help a kid who doesn’t have a family around?
He wants to be here. He wants to contribute. He just isn’t sure he’s supposed to be here.
Everyone is chatting in low voices, having met each other prior to this meeting, and Sia has quietly entertained him with small talk for the past ten minutes. Then, she pulls out her notepad, and Liam doesn’t have anything to say important enough to interrupt her. He turns his gaze down to study his sneakers until the meeting starts in a few more minutes. There are six other people in this room, and all of them were earlier than Liam.
The door swings open, and Liam looks up, immediately grabbing the bracelet he’s wearing over his soulmate countdown. In front him, he sees the hand of the most beautiful man he’s seen in real life move toward his left wrist and then move away. Liam’s face is flushed with shock, his brows furrowed with irritation, and he wants to jump up and leave the room, but the man has already started to speak and everyone else has quieted down to listen.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Zayn Malik, the left side of the brains of this operation, and this is my colleague, Louis, the right. We are both so excited to have you here with us and willing to give your talents to such a worthy cause! You all are the type of people this world needs more of. Give yourself a round.” Everyone claps and the man Zayn smiles at them all before continuing in a quieter voice that nonetheless captures everyone’s attention. “We have a lot of work to do before we get this album out in two months.”
He references his clipboard. “The writers are as follows: Ryan O’Neal, Sia and Alex Turner. The producers are Naughty Boy and Niall Horan. I’ve gone through all of your ideas, and I’m impressed with what’s submitted so far. No surprise given the calibre of talent in the room. What I’ll need from you all now is to come to a consensus on the type of songs that will help this album sound sincere and uplifting without being cheesy or overdone. You’ll also want to know the singers,” he gestures toward where Liam is sitting, “so that you can know which voices to cater to. The singers are Melanie Martinez, Janelle Monae and Liam Payne. Thanks to the writers for doubling as singers. The rest of the singers couldn’t be with us today.”
Zayn turns to Louis who reads off a list of 17 different artists, most of which Liam hasn’t heard of apart from a few names: Lana Del Rey, Mel B and Kelly Rowland.
“We’ll start off listening to the singers now,” Zayn says. He turns his face to them. “Please sing whatever you feel best showcases your range.”
Louis and Zayn sit on one of the couches and the room is silent as each of the singers comes to the center to perform. Liam’s eyes are stuck on Zayn while Janelle sings “Primetime.” He doesn’t know if Zayn can be that person for him and he isn’t sure he even wants him to be. Losing Harry… Liam broods while the singers finish their verse, and he doesn’t realize it’s his turn until Sia nudges his knee.
He gets up and wipes his damp palms on the sides of his pants. He steadies himself, shoulders pulling back, eyes closing as he centers himself, and takes a long breath to clear his mind. He sings “Cry Me a River,” the song he feels most comfortable with through months of practice. The writers and producers scribble while he sings as they’d done for the singers before him. Louis is watching him with his head tilted but Zayn, Zayn is staring at him, Bambi eyes blown wide. Liam finishes his song and sits back down next to Sia who is giving him a measured look. His voice is untrained but powerful. He guess she realizes now why he is here.
When he finishes, Zayn clears his throat and addresses the group again. He asks the writers and producers to confer with each other, supervised by Louis, while he meets with the singers. He takes them to a quiet room next door with only a standing light and curtains, and though his eyes often linger on Liam when his gaze passes over each of the singers, he doesn’t give Liam any other indication that he’s just met his soulmate. Liam can’t help but wonder if it’s because Zayn - gorgeous, clearly altruistic Zayn - has found him lacking in some way.
And then, “Part of the project will be generating funds through selling portraits of the participants. What I’d like to do is take a few test shots of you all to see which angles do those face justice.” He smiles good-naturedly. “Then, we’re done for the day. Throughout the next few weeks, I’ll meet with each of you separately to start on the portraits. I’ll e-mail your assistants, or you directly, if you prefer, to go over the schedule and meeting places. Any questions?” Janelle, Melanie and Liam shake their heads.
Liam thinks nothing of being made to wait while Liam positions the women, tilting their heads this way and that and snapping pictures. They must have much busier schedules than some kid from Wolverhampton who somehow got a golden ticket to be in this room with singers he listens to during his morning commute..
Janelle and Melanie leave, and he and Zayn are alone. He goes to stand in front of the black curtains, bright lights shining off-center on his face, shoulders slightly hunched, a wide-eyed, nervous look on his face and eyes glued to Zayn so as not to miss any direction. But Zayn doesn’t ask him to tilt his head or push his hips forward. He’s staring at Liam, rubbing the back of his neck underneath the camera strap.
“This is --” Zayn starts.
“Awkward?” Liam fills in without thinking.
“I was going to say unexpected but it’s getting there too, mate,” he laughs. He holds out his hand. “I’m Zayn. It’s nice to meet you, Liam.”
Zayn’s gaze is shy, smile soft and endearing in a way that Liam wants no part of. “Zayn.” His voice is hard, and the way Zayn’s mouth turns down puts him on edge. He feels cornered and realizes that Zayn left him last to talk about their stupid clocks. “Can you just take my picture?”
Zayn’s open face closes shut. “I’m gonna. I only thought we might as well get friendly considering… well, soulmates, is a kind of forever thing, yeah?” He touches the zeroed out clock on his wrist for the second time. “What? Are you like one of those who ‘don’t believe in soulmates’? Need some convincing?” His tone is teasing, but Liam’s expression does not lighten.
“I don’t need convincing,” he spits.
“Liam.” There’s a scold in his voice that Liam isn’t going to adhere to, shrugging and turning away with a stubborn set of his jaw.
Zayn stares at him for a beat, eyes narrowed and assessing, before he steps forward, “Let’s get started then.” His own hackles seem raised, movements jerky and voice back to the professional tone he’d used with the others. It makes Liam feel small and cast aside. He keeps his face cold and unimpressed though while Zayn snaps photos of him, hands firm and just short of bruising as he continually repositions Liam’s head, searching for different angles.
When he finishes, Zayn moves to the other side of the room. “Thank you for your time,” he says not bothering to look up from where he’s scrolling quickly through the photos he’s just taken.
Zayn’s back is to Liam and Liam pauses before heading towards the door. His hand is on the knob, and he wants to just walk away from this. But he can’t. He has a feeling that walking out now is saying goodbye to even the possibility of Zayn. He looks over his shoulder to find Zayn looking at him, head still turned down to his camera, and Liam turns to face him, back against the door.
“I’m... “ Liam’s eyes dip toward the side. “I don’t want this,” he says. Zayn smiles and Liam knows this time Zayn is only just holding himself back from laughing at him. “I’m not going to change my mind.” Zayn only raises his head to look at Liam full-on. “I’m only telling you so you don’t start hoping for something that isn’t ever going to happen.”
“Why would I hope to be with a pug-faced screw-up like you? Listen, you’re doing me a favor, honest, because I don’t know what force in the universe thought that I could stomach looking at you every morning and every night. Looking at you long enough to do the portrait will be hard enough, trust me.” Zayn’s eyes are set on Liam’s neck in proof of his point.
Liam’s face flushes bright red, and he chokes out, “Great then.”
“Yeah, alright, I’ll e-mail you to set that up,” he huffs. “Wish I could put it off now I’ve seen you but,” he shrugs, “for charity. Don’t expect people to pay as much for it as they would for the fit guys. I mean, not being funny, but you don’t compare."
Liam gives him a smile that looks more like a grimace. "Sure, thanks for the heads up." He leaves the office and slams the door shut behind him.
*
The door bangs shut, and Zayn deflates shakily. His hands are on his knees as he tries to get a hold of himself. He's finally met his soulmate who just happens to talented and gorgeous in the unsuspecting way Zayn prefers and it's just... not going to happen. Zayn's eyebrows furrow and he places a hand on his chest. He shuts eyes welling with tears and forces his body straight.
So, it's not happening. He may as well not have a soulmate, and that's alright because people without soulmates live happy lives all the time, and Zayn has his work to do. He doesn't need any distractions anyway.
There was a moment there of blinding peace and joy so strong it was a wonder he could contain it and carry on with the meeting. In that moment, he'd thought his and Liam's futures were full of possibility. He'd had a vision of Liam covered in paint from Zayn's hands, laughing, head thrown back, and Zayn beside him decorating him with more paint and kisses. He'd seen them happy.
He exhales and tells himself it was a fantasy, a useless one even. Really, if he can't lie to himself, who can he lie to?
Zayn goes back to the room he left Louis in to find Louis slouching on the couch with his feet perched on a chair in front of him while he texts on his phone.
"Absolute hit, Z. They've already got a good rhythm with each other and arrangements I think we can use. Hoping to get all of the lyrical portions --- what's the matter with you?"
Zayn is fine. He's alright with the circumstances. It's the long day that makes him curl into Louis on the sofa, burrowing his face in his neck. It's the sudden release of nerves over whether people will want to participate that make him cry.
"I'm just sad," Zayn speaks into Louis' throat. He and Louis have no secrets. Zayn is past lying and holding back, past testing people. But he finds himself unable to say: I met my soulmate, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
He doesn’t want to say the words. He doesn’t want to listen to Louis take his side. He doesn’t want this to be true. So he doesn't explain. He takes what comfort he can from Louis' tight embrace and stern pep talk. And when he gets home that night, he doesn't linger on Liam's photos when he's choosing the angles he wants the singers to sit for him in. He distances himself from the want. He's a professional.
If he dreams of Liam and his crinkling eyes, well, it's probably because it's the only attractive feature on his stupid face.
*
Liam's knuckles are cracked and bruised the next morning, and his arms are sore. He stretches each of them across his body in turn to loosen up the muscles, but he knows it will only give him temporary relief. Each ache gives him a jolt of pleasure.
His apartment is sparsely decorated. The most used items are Loki's because he prefers to spend most of his time out and doing. He's productive and a nice, considerate person. He's healthy and that's enough for him.
He makes his standard cup of coffee but skips the two eggs and bacon. He grabs a banana instead. Today would be the worst day to be bloated from a big breakfast. He doesn’t have a great face but he’s careful with his body.
He reads the quote on the post-it that he has on the door: You are not accidental. The world needs you. Without you, something will be missing in existence and nobody can replace it.
He reads it until he believes it. He repeats it to himself when the speed of his heart picks up on the drive to the studio, in the elevator, at the door.
*
Zayn opens the door in black-rimmed glasses, a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows and jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s vowed that he’s going to be a consummate professional about this thing. He isn’t going to punish Liam for not wanting him. It isn’t right. Zayn is lucky. Whatever he has lost in this life, he has gained later on. It is never the same, nor should it be, but it fills as much of that empty space inside him as anything could. Something will come along to make this easier.
“It’s good to see you again, Liam.” Liam is wearing an open red plaid shirt with a white tank underneath and jeans. His posture is stiff and unfriendly, and Zayn knows he can’t have Liam but he doesn’t want to be enemies. “I’m sorry for my behavior last time we met. I was unkind.”
“No worries. Not your fault you don’t find me attractive, right?”
There’s a pause. “You’re a bit gullible, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, face like yours and you just buy into me not wanting you? Looks aside, it’s biology. We’re made for each other. I’m always gonna want you.”
Liam’s mouth falls open, and Zayn worries that he might sound like he’s trying to persuade Liam to be with him. He isn’t. He doesn’t want to be with someone who feels trapped by the clock on his wrist. But Zayn can be cruel when he’s upset and now that he’s not or at least not at Liam anymore, he can’t find it in him to allow Liam to think that he doesn’t find him attractive, or that he doesn’t want to be with him more than he wants anything. He is and he does and it had taken a reaming from Louis (“You’ve got to steer toward the pain, Zayn. How many times have I got to tell you?”) for him to admit it to himself.
“And it’s alright that you don’t want me. I mean, this isn’t an exact science, is it? Maybe something’s… off. Is what it is now though.” He fills his lungs with air and shifts gears. “Have you thought about what you’re comfortable with for the portrait?”
“Uh, whatever you think is best, I can do.”
Zayn eyes him steadily. “You’re not as well-known as the other artists, so I thought we could do something shirtless to level the playing field a bit. Would you be alright with that?”
Liam’s throat moves with his swallow before he nods. Zayn catches everything. He wonders if it it’s that they’re soulmates that gives him the certainty that Liam’s nervousness has little to do with being shirtless and more to do with everything Zayn has said. He knows better than to bring the subject up again to assuage him that he won’t be making any unwanted advances or trying to force Liam to fall in love him. He knows better than to say anything apart from the professional directives that have Liam following him to his studio space, stripping off his shirt and standing before the orange backdrop and bright lights.
Liam is more toned than he appears with his clothes on. His limbs are slim but every muscle pulses with strength. Zayn is not imagining how that strength could be used to his benefit. Instead, he is watching the way Liam releases his freshly bitten bottom lip and the vulnerable set of his shoulders as if he is waiting for a rebuff. There’s a growing irritation in Zayn’s chest. Liam is the one who rejected him. He doesn’t have the right to be looking so small and unsure in front of Zayn.
But Zayn tempers it and focuses on drawing a base outline of Liam’s body. He begins with his head and lightly sketches the shape of Liam’s neck, shoulders and torso. He captures the insecurity because he knows that will sell well with the buyers with savior complexes. They’ll want to fix him, make him the man that Zayn imagines he could be, or is already, if not appearing so in this moment, Zayn doesn’t know him well enough to judge.
It's only when Zayn's hand starts to cramp and Liam is shifting so much on his feet that Zayn is tempted to snap at him that he looks up and realizes the daylight has faded and cast Liam in shadow. He sets down his pencil and assesses what he’s drawn. There is not enough to make out Liam’s expression, but the set of his jaw is unyielding. It's closer to the way that Liam looked the last time Zayn saw him than today.
Zayn’s face scrunches with a frown. “Let’s stop there. You did great,” he says absently.
Liam’s hand twitches toward where he’d left his shirt. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He puts down his sketching pencil and looks to Liam who hasn’t moved to put his shirt on.
“You don’t look,” he blushes. “You don’t look happy with it.”
Zayn shrugs. “I’ll figure out the right look. Takes time s'all.”
“Most good things do, right?”
Zayn swallows and turns away from him, drawing up a surge of irritation to stamp down his hopes. Zayn is sure he’s not imagining the inviting lilt to Liam’s voice. And he just… he can’t handle the uncertainty. He had spent years waiting to be fully loved and waiting to expand his little family with his da to include his soulmate only to have that future become an impossibility in the span of minutes.
He shoves aside the irritation and anticipation, the desire to push Liam until he can tell him just why he doesn’t want to try because that won’t do any good. And he doesn’t want Liam to think Zayn will be waiting around for the moment he decides to love him back.
“Same time next week work for you?”
*
They go on like this for three weeks, Liam’s portrait never quite right. Liam stops tensing the moment Zayn enters a room, and Zayn mostly stops giving him longing looks. He learns that Liam prefers peppermint tea over coffee and is motionless when he is nervous. He finds that Liam will talk to him about anything but his childhood and the reasons behind his refusal to be in a relationship with Zayn. There is a cut-off in conversation if Zayn ever expresses interest in what Liam was like as a boy. He can’t help it, though; he does not need the knowledge to love Liam but he wants it. He wants to know everything about him.
One night, Liam arrives to the studio soaked and shivering. He makes hot cocoa while peels off his wet clothes. Liam emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, chest slightly damp, and Zayn’s mouth parts with need. He swallows, blinking and looking up at Liam. He holds out the mug to Liam, purposefully avoiding his fingers.
Liam takes it gratefully, and they sit cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the worst of the storm to pass so that Zayn can drive Liam home.
The silence is easy. Their backs are against the same wall with a foot of space between them. The battery-operated space heater warms the room comfortably, and the room is alight with candles.
It takes an hour and a half for the drops of rain to decrease in intensity. Neither of them speak during the wait. They sit together, Liam drinking his hot cocoa and Zayn watching the flames flicker. Zayn has few people he can enjoy quietness with. Zayn’s chest is warm with contentment.
Later, Liam’s arms stretch the fabric of the shirt Zayn gives him. He has had to put on his own jeans as Zayn’s are too tight for Liam to squeeze into. Liam chuckles when Zayn holds out a pair of jeans to him.
“No amount of tugs are going to get those up my legs,” he says, pulling on his wet jeans.
“Right,” Zayn agrees. “You could take these,” he points down to his sweatpants. Liam hesitates, and Zayn pulls them down, bending over to pull them off his shoes. He hands them to Liam, unconcerned with his bared legs. His sweatshirt hangs over his briefs.
Liam averts his gaze and murmurs a thanks. He pulls them on, and Zayn pulls his skinny jeans on easily. Liam notes that they are tight enough to give form to his butt.
He clears his throat and reasons, “I could take the underground.”
“No, I’ll take you. I’ve got to get to mine anyway.”
“Alright.”
They head to the car, and Liam directs Zayn to his place. They arrive in front of a two-story building.
“Thanks again,” Liam says, his hand on the door handle.
“It’s no problem, Liam.”
He watches Liam open his door and give Zayn a wave to let him know he’s alright. Zayn waves back and pulls off into the road. He makes it back to his and sends Liam a text that he’s made it home safe. He is oddly appreciative of the smiley face he receives back.
*
There is an absence of something, a part of Liam not captured in the painting, a part that Liam refuses to show. Louis loves it, says that it looks just as good if not better than the others and Zayn should probably stop obsessing over if he’s defined Liam’s abs enough.
Zayn glares at that but concedes that the portrait of Liam with his hard eyes but soft mouth will be successful with both women and men alike. And the summer is almost over, the album recorded and being mixed and remastered. The auction is in five days. Zayn doesn’t have any more time to second guess himself. All of the other portraits are completed, and the paint needs time to really dry and set in, so that it’s not damaged in the transport.
It’s only that once the portrait is complete, that’s it. There’ll be no more awkward conversations while he stares at Liam and tries to capture his essence on canvas. There’ll be no hope for them. Zayn will go back to school, and Liam will stay here in England. Not that Zayn is hoping, really.
He doesn’t care at all about Liam Payne. He’s said it so many times these past weeks to himself and to Louis that the words have almost lost their meaning, but he won’t allow them to. See, Liam is endearing with his unassuming airs and fit face, but he is unattainable and so Zayn will be, too. He’s spiteful like that. He wouldn’t date Liam now if -- if -- if, well, he doesn’t know what, but something extraordinary would have to happen because he’s given Liam his shot and the puppy eyes and the captivating smirk are not enough to make him set aside his dignity.
It’s over. It has to be. And that’s alright.
He calls Liam to tell him he shouldn’t come to the studio tonight and that the painting is as done as it will ever be. His fingers ache from how much he’s worked, and he’d had to get outside help for one or two portraits in the end but he’d kept Liam’s for himself. He’d already started it after all. But Liam doesn’t answer the call or respond to the text Zayn sends about an hour later.
Zayn rolls his shoulder and brings dinner back to the studio rather than driving home. He needs rest and nourishment. At 6 o’clock, there’s a knock on the door and he freezes for a moment, knowing it’s Liam and not wanting to answer. But he does want, all of his self-deceptions evaporating in the instant he sees Liam’s sheepish smile. Zayn’s eyes light up.
“Hey,” he says, tilting the bag toward Zayn.
Zayn looks at the bag and back on Liam. “You didn’t check your mobile? Portrait’s done. We don’t need to meet tonight.”
Liam’s smile, weak as it was, falters and finally drops. “I did listen to it, but I was already closeby and I thought -- it took so long, it might be nice to celebrate? But.” His cheeks are flush. “I can go. You probably want to..” He trails off and casts his eyes down.
“Liam,” Zayn says. And there is such warmth in his tone that Liam’s flush deepens. He offers a tentative smile, and Zayn tugs him inside. “Stay. I’ll fix us a cuppa and you can take a look at the finished product, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Liam repeats.
Zayn sits him down at his kitchen table and moves to put the kettle on. Usually, he is nervous in Liam’s presence, fearful of saying the wrong thing and pushing him further away, not that he was ever close to begin with.
He sighs and leans against the counter while he watches Liam who is staring at the flame beneath the kettle He doesn’t break the silence and as each minute passes it becomes heavier.
Zayn fills up the mug in front of Liam and watches him choose a packet from his tea tin.
“I didn’t really come to celebrate,” Liam murmurs flicking through the selections.
Zayn’s eyebrows raise but with less surprise at the statement and more at that Liam is being honest about it. Liam says nothing else for a long moment and Zayn asks, “So, why did you come?”
Liam clears his throat and his hand pauses at the bracelet covering his countdown. He should just show it to Zayn. Then he’d understand. But Liam hasn’t looked at this clock in the past six years and he finds he can’t bear to look at the blank and faded clock signifying Harry’s short life now. He puts his arm down and turns to Zayn.
His mouth opens and shuts, and he shrugs, a small smile on his face. “I guess I just thought you needed a pick-me-up,” he lies cheerfully.
“Liam,” he reproaches.
“Right. It’d be nice to see the finished product, if it’s alright,” he says hands still on the table.
Zayn knows that this isn’t why he’s come, and he stares at him for a beat before nodding. He leads the way to the studio, suddenly nervous. He refused to let Liam see the progress of the painting after that first day, not wanting to become paralyzed by insecurity and concern over what Liam thinks. Whether he is with Liam or not, the drive to please him overpowers him at times.
He carefully takes the covering off of the painting, Liam close behind him. He steps back and nearly bumps into him.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, moving to the side to allow Liam to have a full view of the portrait.
Liam is silent beside him and Zayn leans on his other foot, his shoulders just brushing Liam’s. He takes in his Liam’s unchanging expression from the corner of his eyes and looks away. He thinks: he hates it. He turns back to the painting and finds the many, minute details of Liam’s face in that he could have embellished or softened. Or maybe he should have chosen an entirely different expression?
“You’ve made me…” he trails off.
“I can make another if you don’t like it. It’s not any trouble. I’ve got the base, and maybe we could go with another expression, like, you could smile because you’ve got a great smile, or, or you could look away. In profile?” He tilts his head with a frown. “I could make it a special release after the auction, maybe.”
“No,” Liam chuckles. “ I was going to say, you’ve made me beautiful.” He turns to face Zayn. His open expression makes Zayn’s heart beat fast.
“Had to be realistic,” he says simply.
Liam smiles, and his eyes fall on Zayn’s mouth. “You’re beautiful. I wish… I wish I’d met you first.” He raises his brows and shakes his head. “It’d be different then but,” he takes a step back, shoulders pushed back. “I can’t.”
Zayn pulls Liam back with a hand on his hip. “I’m not asking you to,” he assures. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Liam, I just want to be ‘round you. I just want you in my life. Whatever that means.”
“You’ll always want more.” Liam attempts to extract himself from Zayn’s hold, but Zayn presses his fingers in firmly.
“But that’s my problem, yeah?” He does not let the desperation color his words. Liam looks doubtful and says nothing. “I’d never try to make you uncomfortable or convince you to be in a relationship with me. Maybe I’ll always want more. Okay. But that’s going to be true no matter where you go, Li.”
Liam sighs and puts his hands on Zayn’s chest. He nudges him back and Zayn lets go of him. “I don’t think it’ll work.” A tear slides down his blotchy cheeks. Liam reaches up a hand to wipe his face. Zayn’s eyes track the movement, and Liam smiles wistfully. If he had met Zayn first, maybe the loss of Harry would be less debilitating. If he had met Zayn first, maybe they could have gone to dinner after that meeting and started a life together. He could have been happy. He sees that.
As it is, he knows that Zayn could shatter an already broken heart. Zayn’s expression is soft and full of hope, and Liam should not risk it. But the irresistible pull to be with Zayn makes him act against his better judgment.
“But I want you in my life too. I want to try being friends.”
“I’m glad. So glad, Liam.”
Liam scrunches his face at him. “You’re going to regret it,” he warns.
Zayn does not want to disregard Liam’s concern. He may very well regret it. Resistance is not something he’d expected from his soulmate. He thought things would be simpler. Apparently, simple’s not what he needed.
“But you won’t,” Zayn says, catching Liam’s hand in his.