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*
Liam and Harry step out of the car to the flash of a thousand camera lenses. Liam’s not surprised. He’s almost even used to it by now, but it’s still a bit unnerving the way people seem to be so fascinated by anything he does no matter how big or small. Where he’s going, what he’s buying when he shops at the mall. Things that are as mundane as the kind of pop he drinks make the front page of the Sun if the news is slow enough some days. It’s weird. It’s already been three years, and he’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around all the attention.
He may be a part of the world’s biggest boyband, but he’s still just Liam.
“You all right?” Harry ducks his head in close and whispers in Liam’s ear. He curls his fingers around Liam’s elbow and steers them over the red carpet and past the shouts of what feels like a million reporters.
“Yeah,” Liam says and nods. He shoots Harry a grin, and Harry beams back at him. “Thanks, Haz.”
They’ve only taken a few steps when the questions start, reporters bellowing at them from all directions. Liam keeps his head raised, waves to people he spots in the crowd, and watches as Harry dodges anything they ask that’s too personal.
”Harry, are you dating Cara Delvegine?”
“Harry, are you dating Nick Grimshaw?”
“Harry, are you dating the pretty blond we saw you with at the movie premiere last weekend?”
That one Harry answers. “I’d hope not since that was my sister,” he says with a smirk and a sharp crack of his gum. “Now if you’d excuse us--”
“Liam! Liam, hey!”
The shouts directed toward him startle Liam for a second. It’s not unheard of that someone would try to get his attention, but he’s usually safe when he’s with Harry. They might be in the same band together but usually when Liam is with any of the others - Louis or Niall, or especially Harry - he can manage to keep to himself and let the others shoulder the brunt of the paparazzi.
He pulls up short when he hears his name, though, Harry’s fingers falling from his elbow. “Yes?”
“Are you a big art fan?” the reporter asks.
Liam blinks. “Um.”
The reporter smiles gently. “No pressure, it’s just that you’re at a gallery opening, so I was curious. Do you have any favorites you’re hoping to see?”
“Oh, you know.” Liam laughs softly. “Not really. I’m just along to keep Harry company if you must know; he’s the art guy of the group.”
The reporter smiles again, and Liam gives them a small wave goodbye. Harry finds the crook of Liam’s arm after that, and he nods at the reporter before beaming to the group of people crowded outside, making an animated show of blowing them all kisses, before turning around and leading them both into the gallery.
*
If Liam had a quid for every time Harry dragged him to one of these snooty hipster art showings with promises that he’d stay, right by your side, Liam. I swear, I won’t leave you for a second and then disappeared the very minute they stepped through the front doors, Liam would never have to sing another note in his life.
Liam loses Harry to Nick and his friends this time, but he doesn’t mind. Not really. He loves Nick and stayed with them for a few minutes when Harry first spotted them, but by the time they all started talking about the pieces around them and comparing them to the last five art shows they’ve been to, Liam’s eyes started to glaze over, and he begged off, smiling easily before wandering throughout the rest of the gallery by himself.
It’s not so bad, is the thing. Liam likes to have time to himself, and while an art gallery opening isn’t one of the first places Liam would think of going, it’s quiet inside, no one is bothering him, and sometimes that’s all Liam really needs. Just a space to himself to walk around and think and not have questions shouted at him from a million different directions.
The food is strange. The waiters and waitresses are dressed in all white from the tops of their heads to the bottom of their feet, but all the food and drink are bright, bright colors and nothing Liam can even recognize as food. He eats a crunchy green thing that he thought was celery but then tasted like meat, and a bright orange ball that looked like cheese but was actually bacon. When the third person passes him with something that is actually bright blue on their tray Liam declines. No one should be that adventurous.
The drinks are just as odd, though these are all just mini martinis, one for every color of the rainbow on every tray he sees. He takes a red one and smiles at the waitress, and when he sees her not even a minute later there’s another red one on the tray in its place. He has no idea how they’re getting replaced so quickly. He drinks a blue one next, then a green, and then an orange, marvelling after each one at how quickly the trays keep getting refilled.
By the time Liam leaves the main room and starts wandering through the rest of the gallery, he’s pleasantly buzzed. Not anywhere near drunk, but happy enough to just walk around looking at the art and trying to see if he can figure out what any of it means. He sees an entire room with things sculpted out of safety pins, and then just past that are floor to ceiling pictures created entirely out of paint swatches. That one is kind of cool, and he lingers in there for a minute before something in the next room just pulls him in.
Because that room is...well, it’s amazing.
The room is completely empty; white ceiling and floor and all the walls are white except for one which is covered almost entirely with a painting. Liam cocks his head and stares at it until his eyes go blurry, until he has to step aside because he realizes he pretty much froze in his spot when he saw the painting and people can’t get past him.
The painting is incredible. Bright glowing reds and yellows and oranges. Swooping black lines and splashes of white in the areas that go almost too dark. Liam can’t see any real pictures in it, but there are curves and shapes. It’s strange but it feels like it’s moving when he looks at it, as if he’s trying to chase something through the picture, but he’s got no idea what it is. He can almost hear it, as daft as that sounds, like a rushing of wind past his ears, the echo of footsteps hidden between the paint and the canvas.
Liam feels drawn to it, pulled in until he’s standing close enough to touch, wondering what it is about it that’s making his chest clench, that’s making the back of his eyes burn and his throat grow tight. He has no idea why. He’s never looked at any kind of painting that made him feel like this. The picture is bright and large and colorful, and Liam thinks it should make him feel happy, full of joy, but for some reason it doesn’t. For some reason it makes him feel sad.
“So. Whaddya think?”
The voice next to Liam makes him jump. He hadn’t realized anyone had walked up to him, hadn’t realized anyone was that close. He clears his throat and rubs at his eyes, horrified when his fingers come away damp.
“Excuse me?” Liam says.
The voice next to him chuckles quietly, and Liam looks over to find the most attractive boy he’s ever seen.
He’s just about Liam’s height but thinner, his hair so dark it’s nearly black and falling messily over his forehead. He’s got stubble on his face, an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear, and the longest, thickest eyelashes Liam’s ever seen up close. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt under a jean jacket with the sleeves pushed up revealing slender arms covered in the scrawling art of tattoos. He’s got on black jeans and heavy combat boots, and when he grins up at Liam his entire face lights up with it, his smile almost eerily beautiful.
“The art,” the boy repeats. “What do you think of it?”
“Oh, oh gosh,” Liam stutters. He looks away from the boy, eyes darting down nervously and flickering around the room. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about art, really.”
The boy laughs, but it sounds kind. “Me neither,” he says quietly.
“It’s just that--” Liam looks back and bites his lip. He’s got no idea how he’s going to say what he means, but he feels like if anyone in this place is going to understand what he means, it’s this boy. He’s got no idea why he thinks that, he just does.
“It’s just that I feel like it should be happy; the picture I mean. It’s all bright, pretty colors and big shapes and everything but. But, I don’t know. When I look at it I feel sad. Lonely almost.” He stops then, thinks back on what he’s said to a perfect stranger and feels his throat and face flush hot. “God, I’m sorry. That probably sounds so stupid.”
“No,” the boy says. He’s watching Liam intently, dark eyes almost piercing. “Not stupid at all.”
Liam doesn’t know what to say. He turns back to stare at the painting some more and has to physically refrain from reaching out and touching it at one point. He just - he’s never had something make him feel so much, and he wonders if that’s the point. If the colors are bright so it looks happy on the surface, but if you keep looking you find there’s so much more to it underneath.
“Do you think that that’s it?” Liam asks, but when he turns to look back at the boy he’s met with nothing but an empty space, the boy nowhere to be found.
*
“Well aren’t you a cheeky little fucker,” Harry says a bit later, coming up from behind Liam and hooking his chin on Liam’s shoulder. Liam elbow’s Harry in the ribs, and Harry makes a dramatic oof-ing sound and stumbles backward. “Hey!”
“I’ve told you not to sneak up on me,” Liam says. He’s leaning against a wall in the main area of the gallery, pouting at every person that walks by. It’s been nearly an hour since he lost the boy he was talking to. He can’t find him anywhere, and it’s making him cranky. “And anyway what do you mean, cheeky? All I’m doing is standing here.”
“Yeah, now,” Harry says, reaching out to grab something hot pink and fizzy in a champagne glass from a passing tray. “But I saw you before.”
Liam huffs. “Saw me before what?”
“I saw you talking to Zayn Malik, you twat.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I have to say I was impressed; I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Harry, what are you talking about?” Liam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who’s Zayn Malik?”
Harry is silent for so long Liam looks up to make sure he’s still standing there. He is, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes blinking wide. “Are you serious right now?”
Liam straightens up from the wall. Something in Harry’s tone has Liam’s stomach twisting in knots. “What? Why? Who’s Zayn Malik? Why would you think I was talking to him?”
“Because you were,” Harry says. “I saw you. You were standing in front of his painting with him and you were both talking. Did you not know it was him?”
And oh. Oh no. “The painting in the white room.”
“Yes,” Harry says.
“The big one that takes up the wall?” Liam asks. Please, god, let Harry be wrong. “Is he like, a big deal or something?”
Harry laughs at that, literally bursts out laughing. Liam wants to take him into the loo and stick his head in a toilet. “He’s literally the biggest name at this show tonight. His painting is being talked about by art critics around the world. It’s looking to fetch about a billion quid when he puts it up for auction. Are you actually saying you didn’t know it was him?”
Liam wants to die. No. Dying would be too easy, actually. He wants to die and then come back to life so he can die again. Every day for the next thousand years.
“I had no idea,” Liam whines. He covers his face with his hands. “I said it was bright colors. I said it made me feel sad.”
“You what?”
And Harry is really going to have to start sounding a little less fucking gleeful if he wants to live through the rest of the night.
“Oh god, I have to find him,” Liam says. He’s determined now at least. He pushes away from the wall and ignores the way Harry’s still snickering.
“Good luck with that, mate,” Harry calls out. “No one’s been able to find him all night.”
Liam grits his teeth and stalks away. He’s not sure he knows where Zayn is exactly, but he’s got a good idea where to start looking.
*
It takes bribing three different security guards before Liam finds the fire exit that Zayn is hiding out on, smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes if the ashtray in front of him is any indication. His head whips up when Liam pushes open the door, but he smiles easily when he sees that it’s Liam, motioning for him to close the door and come closer.
Liam stands there awkwardly for a second, twisting his hands together in front of him. The night air is cold, wind curling through the trees surrounding the gallery and blowing under his thin jacket. Liam clears his throat and stares at Zayn. Now that Liam’s found him he’s got no idea what to say.
“You could have told me you were the painter,” is what he blurts out after a moment, and then he tries to backtrack when Zayn stares at him, grinning widely. “I mean artist. Artist sounds better than painter, I guess.”
“Nah, painter is fine,” Zayn says.
“Still,” Liam says and rolls his eyes. “You could have told me who you were.”
Zayn stands up and tosses his cigarette to the ground. He holds his hand out and says, “All right, then. I’m Zayn.”
Liam huffs. “I know that now.” He takes Zayn’s hand, shivering from the cold press of Zayn’s rings against the palm of his hand. “I’m Liam.”
“I know who you are,” Zayn says cheekily. Liam tilts his head. Zayn still hasn’t let go if his hand. “I’ve got little sisters. I’ve seen your poster on their walls.”
“Oh god,” Liam groans, but he smiles anyway, shaking his head as he pulls his hand back. “I just. This is so embarrassing. This whole night is so embarrassing.”
Zayn’s eyebrows crinkle. “Why?”
“Because I said your picture had pretty colors,” Liam says, throwing his hands in the air. He paces back and forth in the small space between them, muttering the whole time. “I said it made me feel sad and lonely and just - I don’t know, ok? I told you I didn’t know anything about art.”
“But that was the best part, Liam,” Zayn says fiercely. He stops Liam from walking by grabbing Liam’s hand and pulling him close. “Don’t you get it?” Liam must look as confused as he feels because Zayn shakes his head sharply. “I can hear people telling me how great my stuff is anytime. I’ve got art critics and magazines blowing compliments up my arse whenever I need them.” Liam opens his mouth, but Zayn shakes him off. “You told me what you really thought. You told me my painting made you feel something, that it moved you and just. I can’t get that from anyone, you know? If people know who I am I can never really know if they’re telling me what they think or what they think I want to hear.”
Liam nods, moving closer when Zayn tugs on his hand. “I understand that, I do,” he says quietly. Zayn’s looking up at him, his eyes wide and dark, and Liam doesn’t know what it is about this night, what it is about Zayn that has Liam’s insides all twisted up, his heart beating so quick he can nearly see it banging from behind his ribs. “It’s like... I’m in a band so everyone knows who I am, yeah? But sometimes… Sometimes I don’t feel like anyone knows me. Like they know the Liam that’s famous or the Liam that’s on the radio, but they don’t know me. I never really know when someone’s interested if it’s me they really want or--”
“Or the person they think you are in their head,” Zayn finishes for him. Liam breathes out. He feels relieved, almost. Like meeting Zayn has soothed a part of him he didn’t realize was hurting. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Liam blinks. He looks past the door and into the gallery and can see the shadows of people still milling around inside. Harry’s in there, and he’s probably wondering where Liam’s gone off to, and Zayn. Well Zayn probably has hundreds of people in their dying for a chance to see him, talk to him. Liam doesn’t have any right to do what he’s about to do, but he looks down at their hands, the way Zayn’s fingers are still curled around his wrist and then up to find Zayn watching him, eyes dark, mouth parted on a slow breath.
People are waiting for them both inside, but they’re outside, and on the other side of the fire exit is the rest of the world.
Liam slides his hand up so their palms are pressed together. He fits his fingers into the spaces between Zayn’s, and when he feels Zayn tighten his hand he looks up to find him smiling.
“I’m sure you have like, a million things to do in there,” Liam says quietly.
Zayn nods his head. “Just about.”
“But would you maybe want to get a drink with me?” Liam asks. “Just me though. Just Liam.”
Zayn ducks his head. Liam can see the tops of his cheeks are pink, and he’s biting down on his bottom lip. “As long as you’re asking just Zayn,” he says quietly.
Liam smiles then, so wide his face almost hurts from it. “I don’t know any other,” he says gently, and tugs on Zayn’s hand, pulling him down the steps and after Liam into the carpark.
-end-