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Zayn meets Liam for the first time on a Sunday morning in December.
*
The air outside is harsh, buffeting against Zayn’s cheeks. It feels bright and bitter, like a whorl of frost crackling over his skin. He breathes in, and it’s a burn down his throat; a mess of hurtache that scrapes off layers of his insides with each inhale. Snow falls steadily as he walks, melting into the fibres of his coat when it hits him on the way down. His fingers are fiery with the pain of cold and he curls them tighter inside the sleeve of his coat, tips stained the blue of bad circulation. Ducking into the warmth of the supermarket is almost a relief, once the sting of warm against weathered flesh dies down. The gush of heated air is a hum under Zayn’s skin; it settles deep in his bones and relaxes his muscles; knots of tense from his ‘heat-preserving hunch’ loosening. He eases the clench of his fingers - allows them to peek out from the sleeve of his coat - and ventures into the trolley area.
Zayn collects a basket and clutches at it as he shivers slightly and curls deeper into his coat. It’s warmer than outside, but Zayn feels like his veins are running cold. He’s got a list – pressed into his hand by a warm, sleepy Harry – and he unfolds it slowly, clumsily and one-handed, trembling as he slowly thaws. Most items, written in Harry’s messy scrawl, are located in the cold aisle. Zayn sighs, grips the basket tighter and trudges towards the back of the supermarket. His edges still feel damp from flecks of melted snow, the sodden fabric of his jacket cold against his skin. He doesn’t resent Harry often – he’s affable and affectionate, is Harry, and hard to dislike – but Zayn feels the creep of annoyance curling in his belly as he contemplates abandoning the shopping altogether.
Strains of cheerful music filter out through tinny speakers and Zayn feels his shoulders tighten. He’s only here – and not at home, curled up in his blankets, soft and cozy with his latest book – because the flat is empty of everything edible, except some very mouldy bagels and a half-empty box of brownie mix. He’d almost given in this morning and eaten the bagels, stomach growling whilst the heating shuddered into gear. But Harry had caught him - hand in the bag, feet bouncing to avoid contact with the icy floor – and had bundled him up in layers of scarves, before pushing him out the door, list crumpled in his fist and breath misting into clouds with every exhale.
*
He reaches the cold aisle on a sigh, and his mood sours further – darkening around the edges, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth – when he encounters a particularly chirpy pair of boys blocking the milk shelves. Zayn knows that he could do the rest of his shopping and come back, but he’s tired and he hates shopping. He drops the basket at his feet, closing his eyes and listing to the side slightly with exhaustion. He breathes deeply, unclenches his fists and tries to look interested in cheese whilst he waits.
He doesn’t manage long before he’s jolted out of his sleepy contemplation of Stilton, eyelids drooping, by a piercing shout from one of the boys next to him.
“Scurvy, Liam! D’you want me to get scurvy?”
Zayn grimaces - ears ringing - and turns, attention grabbed by the raucous indignation beside him. He watches as the taller of the two – Liam – clutches desperately at a cabbage, holding it close to his chest. He’s leaning back and away from his companion, grip so tight on the cabbage that his knuckles are white. He curves protectively round the vegetable, mouth turned down and biceps bulging obscenely, tight against his grey cable-knit jumper. Zayn swallows around a sound of surprise. His mouth feels dry and his skin prickles with a sudden sweat. This boy is beautiful.
Zayn wants to touch; wants to reach out and catch Liam’s mouth with his. He wants to tug on Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth and taste – because Zayn knows himself and he’s always been a bit bitey. He’s freezing, his whole body aches and he’s exhausted, but Liam is like a bolt of warmth and energy jump starting Zayn’s heart. Liam is earnest and bright and the air around him is alive with electricity. Liam is the scent of rain on dry earth; he’s petrichor, and Zayn wants.
But Liam’s companion is still gesturing angrily at the cabbage, back turned to Zayn. The look in Liam’s eyes is so fond that Zayn feels his heart break a little – a crack and a snap of oh. Liam looks at this boy with such exasperation and attachment – and it all adds up to not Zayn’s.
“Scurvy’s what you get when you don’t eat fruit and veg, Louis.”
And Zayn. He can taste the tenderness in Liam’s words and his stomach pinches, tight and unhappy. He wants. He wants to feel the heavy press of affection against his skin; feel the weight of love in words directed at him. He wants sweetheart and mine breathed out across his back as Liam cradles him to his chest – big hands spread across Zayn’s belly and soft kisses dropped into the crook of his neck. And it’s stupid. Because Zayn hasn’t even spoken to Liam – but the clutch of want in his gut is like a burst of Liam in his veins. Zayn wants to know everything about Liam; wants to know him intimately and adoringly; he wants to learn everything Liam is.
But Liam. He has a Louis. A Louis who gets those pieces of Liam – gets all of him. A Louis - who in fact looks so desperately affronted by a cabbage daring to be healthy that Zayn can’t stop the swell of laughter that bubbles up and out his mouth. It’s a bright burst of amusement that breaks past Louis’ indignation. It flickers across the aisle like a flame and Louis snaps to attention, eyes narrowed and gaze concentrated on Zayn as he giggles into his sleeve-covered hand.
Zayn’s eyes flutter closed for a second and when he opens them again he finds himself, unexpectedly, with a face full of irate – and rather fluffy – hair. He’s toe-to-toe with an unimpressed ball of irritation and Zayn thinks that perhaps laughing wasn’t the best idea.
“What are you looking at, mate?” Louis says, pressing himself closer to Zayn, puffing up like a blowfish in an effort to look intimidating.
But Zayn’s gaze flickers over Louis and spots, tightly hidden under the bravado, a flash of vulnerability. A jolt of worry that he’s done something stupid; that people are laughing at him. Zayn knows that feeling intimately – and hates it; hates that he could have made someone else feel that way. So he tries – chokes back the laughter enough to answer Louis and then, hopefully, leave. But as he opens his mouth, apology and reassurance at the ready, he spots Liam trying to hide the offending cabbage in his basket behind a multi-pack of Twix. Liam looks so absurdly guilty - hands twisting together and face worried, his attempt at subterfuge conspicuously green and leafy in the basket - that Zayn is laughing again, his snorts of amusement muffled into his scarf.
“Cabbage,” he whispers, before laughter wracks his body again.
Louis raises an eyebrow before turning back to Liam. Liam’s biceps strain against the material stretched across them as he heaves the overflowing basket up - and Louis’ eyes sharpen, mouth pinching tightly as he lets out a wounded noise.
“Liam!” He whinges, half tackling the basket in an attempt to get to the cabbage. Liam tries to evade him, but Louis is quick and light on his feet and the basket in Liam’s hand is heavy and cumbersome. Louis grabs the cabbage from its resting place behind the Twix and clutches it to himself fiercely.
“How could you?” He says, voice small and disappointed.
Liam makes a clucking sound in his throat, expression frustrated, but before he can say anything Louis straightens, lets out a battle cry – high and piercing – and launches the cabbage into the air. All three of them stop and watch, eyes tracking the vegetable as it goes sailing over Zayn’s head and bounces off the back of a blonde guy further down the aisle.
Zayn feels his mouth drop open, the weight of his disbelief hanging heavy in the air.
“Shiiiiiiiit,” Louis says, drawing the word out in awe.
Zayn turns to look at the other two, eyes wide and incredulous. Liam looks absolutely mortified, guilt and shame marring his features as his mouth hangs open. Zayn wants to reach out and reassure him – tangle his fingers with Liam’s and squeeze - but Zayn’s not sure that this is an occurrence that can be easily rectified by hand-holding.
He flicks his gaze back to the victim of Louis’ unintentional cabbage attack; the boy has collected the cabbage, holding it tight to his chest as he approaches the trio. Louis’ sharp intake of air tells Zayn he’s noticed too, and suddenly he feels overwhelmed with hysteria; he can’t keep the laughter in, giggles escaping him as he flaps a useless apology to the cabbage victim. Next to him, Louis’ laughing too, clutching at his sides and wheezing.
“Run! Save yourselves!” He shrieks, before scampering off round the corner, limbs flailing and laughter echoing after him.
Zayn is laughing so hard that he feels rooted to the spot, unable to even think about running away. Next to him, Liam looks utterly shell-shocked, eyes worried and mouth agape. The blonde boy reaches them, cabbage still in hand – and Zayn hears Liam taking shallow, quick breaths next to him.
“I’m so sorry -” Liam begins, throat working. His face has crumpled, collapsed inwards – tight and unhappy.
“Yeah, sorry mate!” Zayn jumps in.
Liam sounds like he wants to cry and Zayn can’t bear the thought. He suspects that a crying Liam would break his heart in two - and he’d like to avoid that. The blonde boy, however, just flashes a quick grin – bright and genuine. His braces spark, winking under the fluorescent lights.
“Yeah, no worries mate. Bit of a shock, but made me laugh. Not every day that a cabbage attacks you.”
He carefully places the cabbage back in Liam’s basket, jostling the Twix as it goes in. Zayn can feel Liam gaping next to him, knuckles white as he clutches at the basket. Zayn himself feels wrong-footed and uneven in the face of the sheer positivity this boy exudes.
“You do know your friend is hiding round the corner giggling into soup cans, right?” The boy continues, grinning.
He holds out his hand without waiting for an answer. “I’m Niall. Nice to meet you.”
Zayn takes Niall’s hand, feeling buoyed by his exuberance. “Zayn.”
His palm is warm around Zayn’s and he smiles once more before turning to Liam, hand offered again. Liam’s expression is still guilty, but he takes Niall’s proffered hand, shaking it and saying “I’m Liam. Um. I’m so sorry about Lou-”
Niall cuts Liam off with a shake of his head, dimples flashing.
“Don’t worry about it, mate. I thought it was funny. And like, it was the kind of thing my mate Harry would do. Course, that’d be because he’d tripped over his own feet, rather than because he felt like attacking innocent bystanders.” Niall finishes on a wink, softening his words with a smile.
Liam makes a contrite noise, face screwed up with guilt, but Zayn cuts him off before he can apologise again.
“Niall? Niall Horan?” He asks.
“Yeah-” Niall begins, puzzlement clouding his expression.
Zayn clicks his fingers, leaning against the cheese shelf behind him. “Hazza’s friend? Harry Styles, right? Mate, I’ve heard all about you!”
Niall’s eyes light up with recognition, grin suddenly bright again. “Oh yeah! You’re that Zayn?”
“Pretty sure there aren’t that many Zayn’s, mate. Can’t believe Hazza hasn’t introduced us yet, though.”
In Zayn’s periphery he spots Louis sneaking back round the aisle to stand beside Liam – now that he knows he’s not going to get stabbed by an irate cabbage victim. He sighs, pushes his fringe to the side before melting into Liam’s side. His fingers curl tightly into Liam’s jumper and he rubs his face softly on the wool. Zayn swallows around the tightness in his throat, turning his attention back to Niall.
“I know, yeah.” Niall says, and it takes Zayn a moment to remember what Niall is replying to. “We should fix that. Go out with Hazza and the lads – get shitfaced, have a good time.”
He turns to Liam, who shrinks behind Louis, gently removing his hand from where it’s curled in Liam’s jumper in order to hide more easily.
“You two as well,” Niall continues.
Liam starts to protest, but Louis cuts across him, cheeky grin spread across his face.
“We’d love to, mate.” Louis says.
Liam ducks his head and sighs, but Louis just shushes him with a flutter his hand. He whips out his mobile, face flushed with excitement.
“We should swap numbers, yeah? Text us the details and we’ll be there.”
There’s a flurry of activities as phones are taken out and numbers exchanged, mood of the group buoyed by Louis’ relentless good cheer and Niall’s affable nature. Zayn can see why Harry likes him. They’re both laid back and affectionate, content to float along with life.
Numbers exchanged, Zayn tucks his phone away and collects his basket from the floor next to him.
“I should probably get on with my shopping. But it was good to meet you, yeah. See you all tonight.” He says, smiling and reaching behind Liam to grab the milk.
The others make noises of agreement before stumbling off to continue their own shopping. Zayn heads off further up the cool aisle, feeling lighter than he has in a while. It’s been one of the weirdest mornings he’s had in a long time – and that includes the time Harry tried to make friends with a duckling – but it wasn’t bad. He’s still not going to thank Harry for making him go shopping, though.
*
They do end up meeting later that evening, Liam and Louis gathered on the doorstep of Zayn and Harry’s flat, shivering as snow falls slowly around them. Zayn is eyeing the weather, the icy wind whistling into the flat through the open door, expression suspicious. He thinks about the cup of tea he has sitting on the kitchen counter at this very moment, slowly cooling, and vetoes clubbing loudly. Liam’s face collapses with relief, even as Louis groans in disappointment, mouth pulled down at the edges.
Zayn steps back from the door, ushering them in quickly. He instructs them to hang their coats on the hall radiator, the steady drip of melting snow making Zayn shiver in sympathy. They shrug out of their coats and Liam takes Louis’ from him, carefully hanging them both on the radiator whilst Louis toes off his shoes. Liam is still in the grey jumper and Zayn struggles with the urge to bury himself in Liam’s arms and snuggle against him. He’s cold and Liam looks warm and huggable. Liam is tall and strong and Zayn thinks that being held by Liam would be like being held safe.
He ignores the impulse, however, and leads the two of them down the corridor to the living room – Harry and Niall already firmly ensconced on the sofa.
“Anyone want a cuppa?” He asks, planning on re-making his own anyway.
Liam’s face perks up, asking for sugar and milk in his. The lack of Yorkshire Tea, however, makes Louis scrunch his nose up and ask for water instead. Zayn heads towards the kitchen, tea requests in mind, but doesn’t miss the look of surprise and interest on Harry’s face when he sees Louis. Shit, he thinks. Shit, shit, shit.
*
Zayn switches the kettle on, fetching mugs from the cupboards above the sink and milk from the fridge. As the kettle whistles, he hears footsteps behind him.
“Hey Haz,” he says.
But it’s Liam clearing his throat behind him and Zayn starts, turning to face him jerkily, milk sloshing over the top of the bottle where it’s clutched tightly in his hand.
“Um. Not Harry!” Liam starts. “Just. Wondering if you wanted any help?”
And he looks so earnest and hopeful that Zayn has to swallow around a lump in his throat. He feels like he wants to cry because Liam is perfect and unavailable and probably not even interested in Zayn even if he wasn’t dating Louis. So he just shakes his head and coughs.
“Nah. I’m alright. You go and hang out and I’ll bring it in.” Zayn says, forcing a shaky grin.
Liam nods slowly, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. Zayn feels himself smile back, more genuinely this time, before turning back to the kettle and pouring the tea. He hears Liam clear his throat behind him again, before leaving and heading back to the living room.
“Hey, it’s Leeeeeyummmm!” Louis shouts, sounding delighted.
Zayn finishes making the tea and gathers the mugs, carrying them slowly through to the living room. He goes back for Louis’ water and settles it next to the tea on the coffee table. He nudges Harry with a socked foot, encouraging him to move up the sofa before squidging in beside him, Niall on his other side. Louis and Liam have taken over the large armchair on the other side of the room; Louis curled up almost on top of Liam and Liam’s arm tucked around him, holding him and all his stripey-shirted glory in place. Zayn sighs and leans in to Harry, heart aching.
*
After much debate – which was rather heated on Niall’s side, unexpectedly – they end up ordering pizza and choosing a film to watch. The highlight of the evening – as agreed by the entire group – is watching as Niall eats two entire pizzas by himself and then proceeds to still declare himself hungry. Zayn suspects that Niall has a hollow stomach, and says as much, voice incredulous.
Niall grins and winks, telling him that his pizza eating skills are just “because I’m bloody awesome, Z. And also because I burn energy through the watts of my smile.”
Laughter rings around the room, Louis’ the loudest. Zayn watches as Harry grins lazily up at him, expression clouded with adoration. Shitty shit, Zayn thinks again. This is going to end badly.
*
As the end credits of the film scroll, Louis sits up slowly and makes a questioning noise.
“What do you guys do, then?” He asks, blinking sleepily. “We should probably get to know each other better if we’re gonna be hanging out.”
A flurry of information pours out – Harry talking about his English degree and Niall informing them that he works part-time in a pub because he’s on his gap year (or three). Louis is apparently in marketing. As everyone talks, Zayn watches as Liam slowly relaxes into the armchair, looking more and more at ease.
“What about you Liam?” Zayn finds himself asking.
“I’m a firefighter,” Liam says, smiling softly. “I just started recently, actually. It’s really good! It’s nice to feel like I’m helping people.”
Zayn blinks, heart beating faster. Liam is all good and generous and kind. He wants to nip at Liam’s nose; brush at his mouth with feathery kisses, light and sweet. Liam is the cutest thing Zayn has ever seen – and Zayn wants to lick him until he blushes.
“What about you?” Liam asks in return, face slightly pink as a result of the attention focused on him.
Zayn perks up; his art degree is one of his favourite subjects to talk about. Liam looks so genuinely interested in what Zayn is saying – even when he starts discussing the merits of charcoal – that Zayn falters a bit, heart stuttering in his chest. He trips over his words, slowing around the tightness in his throat until Niall suddenly topples of the sofa, jostling Zayn on his way down. He lets out a loud snore, before snuffling quietly and rubbing his face into the carpet sleepily.
Laughter rings round the room and Zayn grins even as he aches – because this Liam infatuation is going to end so badly. Zayn’s heart already hurts and he’s known Liam for a day. But he pushes the thought from his mind, smiles and fetches Niall a blanket from the airing cupboard. Liam tucks Niall in carefully, placing a soft cushion beneath his head as Harry swaps the discs over in the DVD player. Zayn feels himself drooping sleepily and leans into Harry for support once he’s firmly ensconced on the sofa beside him again. It doesn’t take long before he softly drifts into sleep, mind whirring over thoughts of Liam’s smile.
*
Zayn wakes with a start, hot and suffocating beneath the weight of Harry’s arm stretched over him. Someone has removed his jacket for him and placed it over the back of the sofa, folded neatly. The light from the DVD player illuminates the room softly, the harsh red of the clock reading 4.02 a.m. Zayn pushes at Harry’s arm until it slides off him - Harry sorting quietly in his sleep - and revels in the rush of cool air over his skin.
He sits up slightly, goose-pimples popping up urgently now he’s away from Harry’s body heat. Everyone’s asleep; Niall sprawled across the floor in an ungainly mess, with Liam and Louis curled up nearby. Zayn smiles sleepily, happy and soft, before his attention catches on a glint in the darkness. It’s Liam, holding tight to Louis – cradling him against his chest, Louis’ fingers curled tightly into Liam’s shirt. Liam smiles tenderly at Zayn in the dark, eyes crinkling and countenance gentle – and Zayn feels his heart beat hard against his chest as his belly clenches with want. He wants to reach out and smother himself in Liam; wants to feel cradled in Liam’s love and –
Shit.
Zayn is so screwed.