keeping the stars apart (5/6)
“i think we should move in together.” it’s fast, rips off liam’s tongue like a band-aid.
zayn stops mid-walk, stares at the packed box in his hand. “wait-that’s what this is for?”
liam nods hesitantly.
“i thought you said you were gonna live on your own.”
“well yeah, that’s what i said, but not quite what i meant, was it?” the sarcasm in liam’s tone is heavier than zayn’s used to.
zayn walks over to liam’s bed to sit and puts a doubtful hand on the back of his neck. “you’re serious?”
liam’s hands raise in frustration. “of course i’m serious! why would i joke about us moving in together?”
“i don’t know-you wouldn’t-“
liam sighs and sits next to him, rubs his back in circular motions. “it’s okay zayn. you don’t have to give me an answer right now. i’m a patient guy.”
zayn sighs, “but i’m not.” leaning forward he brushes his cheek against liam’s. “we both already know the answer.”
a smile appears on liam’s mouth, wide and bright. zayn almost melts at the sight.
///
looking back has two outcomes: really fucking amazing or really fucking painful. for zayn, it’s the latter. it’s always the latter. nostalgia isn’t a stranger to him, isn’t something he’s been living without, especially lately.
when zayn snaps out of his memories, momentarily forgets the past, the present slaps him in the face. sometimes he touches his face and notices the difference in his skin; how it’s gone from soft and pure to withered and tainted only in a matter of months. some days he can’t tell the difference between his dreams and reality.
when it’s morning light and he rolls over to find that the space where liam should be is unoccupied he weeps into his shoulder, distraught; asks himself where it all went wrong. why liam barely visits anymore. why he’s so far away. why he can’t feel him near. he bunches up the sheets in his palms to muffle his screams, blames himself audibly over and over and over.
the sound of rubber screeching and glass shattering returns as it always does and sounds like a kettle ready to be taken off the flame; it rings in his ears so belligerently he has to cover them, beg them to stop.
louis doesn’t come running in this time.
///
all it takes for zayn to remember he’s alone is stare at the empty space in his bed and the untouched cds on liam’s shelf and the untouched silverware and untouched doorknobs and untouched toothbrush and untouched everything.
it's eating dinner opposite a shadow and making conversation with ghosts and thin air that widen the hole in his heart.
it's not waking up to raspy whispers of "good morning" and falling asleep to hazy sighs of "goodnight" and not feeling whole.
just the thought of any of this, and he drowns again.
///
the meadow is the only place they ever meet anymore, and the more times they do, the more zayn notices how distant they appear to be, and it stings. the pain has doubled since last week and he’s vomited a few times since. but he’s still grateful to be in liam’s presence, even if for a short time.
“how come you never visit?” zayn asks, his nose nuzzling liam’s neck. he knows that perhaps his movements of snuggling up tight to his side and constant inhaling in his scent may be a bit much but he can’t help it. he literally wants to drink liam in, every ounce of him. he silently wonders when he turned so dependent.
“because it’s not possible, zayn,” liam answers.
“and why is that?”
liam looks down at him. “i’m genuinely worried about you,” he says. “you think i never see you, never visit you, but i do. trust me i do. and if it were possible to spend every waking moment with you for all of forever, i swear to you i would. but i can’t. it’s just not possible.” his voice breaks at the last word, and zayn wants it to make sense, wants it all to come together.
“tell me,” zayn urges. “please, liam. tell me.”
when liam says nothing, zayn turns angry, scoffs. “you know, i thought out of everyone i knew you’d be the first to be upfront and honest with me, especially about us. guess i was wrong.” he detaches his body from liam’s-something he almost doesn’t have the strength to do-and is about to walk away when liam’s hand grabs his own. “wait.”
he turns, looks back at liam. “i…” liam stumbles, unsure, “i don’t want you to be confused anymore. as much as i don’t want you to hurt, you deserve to know.”
zayn kneels beside him, eager, desperate. “know what?” he asks.
a tear rolls down liam’s cheeks and falls to the ground as he whispers, “the truth.”
///
and for the first time in months, zayn is aware of the fact that he is dreaming. in this moment, he is dreaming, and he can’t help but laugh.
“what?” asks liam.
“it’s just funny… i have better luck seeing you in my dreams than in real life.”
liam frowns. “you still don’t understand. but don’t worry. you will soon.”
zayn isn’t sure where they are, but it doesn’t matter.
“zayn, what’s the last thing you remember? think about it long and hard, and take it seriously please.”
zayn closes his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. images whir in his head, some clear, like ones of him and liam visiting the beach and collecting seashells, or when liam taught zayn to swim. but most… most are grainy, blurred at the edges. he can make out the faint outline of hundreds of people at a party, of a blue car, of a late night gathering. he can’t make any sense out of it.
“i really don’t know,” he says, and suddenly he feels overcome with exhaustion. “i can’t do this. i don’t know.”
there’s a long pause of silence, and finally liam takes a deep breath and speaks.
“the rumi piece… what do you think it’s about?” and before zayn can mutter a what liam interrupts, “just tell me.”
zayn opens his eyes. “it’s about… a man who is in love with the person he’s writing to, i suppose. and…”
his thoughts falter.
“keep going.”
zayn scratches his forehead. “and he tells that person that outside of the world we live in that… the place he’s referring to is one without ideas or… or concepts or language. it’s a different realm where it’s only the two of them, together, outside of time.”
liam leans in, holds zayn’s waist tightly. it makes zayn jump. “sound familiar?”
“i… no?”
liam stares-quite intently-into zayn’s eyes, no trace of humor or jest reflected in his eyes. “where do you think i’ve been, zayn?” and his tone is so serious it sends a shiver down zayn’s spine.
“here,” says zayn. “you’ve been here.” and he lazily gestures towards the green of their surroundings.
for the first time, liam smiles.
“yes,” he says. “here is where i’ve been. waiting for you.”
“but why here?” zayn asks. he is tired of answering questions. he only wants answers.
“you scream at night, zayn. i can hear you, even if i don’t want to. sometimes it hurts me so much, puts me in so much physical agony i don’t think i can…” he rubs his forehead, flustered. “i’m not around because i can’t be. if it were possible i would but i - i’m not where you are.”
tires. zayn can feel them burning, hot and fiery and scraping against asphalt; the sound of defeat. the sound of… of…
“you remember that day, i know you do.” and now liam’s voice is softer, sweeter, kinder. “we were on our way to the dock. we had our whole day planned out. drive there, feed the birds, dip our feet in the lake-“
and before liam can stop zayn can’t feel the oxygen filling his lungs anymore-
“-and watch the sunrise. it was going to be our day, just for us.”
time stops. the world stops spinning. zayn holds his head in his heads, the memories whirring past him too quickly to be caught, saved, buried, remembered. he can’t cope. he can’t.
moments, images-hundreds of them-of just the two of them, all of them combined chronologically, showing themselves like a movie in his head. he swears the earth he is bound to is made up of these seconds, because even when he opens his eyes, it’s all he sees.
it’s him and liam in the library reading across from each other, making conversation for the first time; it’s liam helping zayn with the various papers and utensils he’s dropped in the school hallway; it’s liam making zayn laugh for the first time after reciting a corny joke (zayn remembers the way liam’s face lit up when liam realized he had finally cracked open that wall, even if just slightly); it’s zayn feeling tiny butterflies of sorts in the pit of his stomach when liam smiles so purely, so genuinely; it’s liam walking him home after a rough day, reaching for his hand from time to time; it’s liam bringing zayn soup when he’s too sick to get out of bed; it’s liam leaving notes in zayn’s locker, tugging at his heartstrings, opening him up, telling him it’s okay to feel confused and frustrated and alone; it’s liam’s hand over his own; it’s gentle kisses in the darkness; it’s the moonlight falling on liam’s face, outlining his button nose and perfect smile; it’s liam inviting zayn to his favorite place in the world-here-and being so so so selfless and letting zayn in on all his favorite things; it’s liam comforting zayn when zayn is confused; it’s their inside jokes being pressed against the outline of lips, smooth and generous, willing to give give give while the other pair takes takes takes; it’s zayn in the driver’s seat, liam beside him, driving to the dock in the early hours of the morning while everyone else is still asleep, laughing, singing…
colliding. the road appears to be clear from what they can make of it; no signs of people or other cars or even animals show themselves. it’s only them two on the open road, pure smiles and genuine laughter filling the air, windows rolled all the way down, liam’s hand caressing the wind. he looks at zayn, a smile plastered on his face as he hums to the tune of the music filling the air. they’re driving up a steep hill, the road ahead marked as an unknown. the sun is in the sky, the clouds silently hovering over it, casting shadows on their faces. zayn feels liam looking at him, admiring him; he looks back in awe, places his free hand on liam’s cheek as liam opens his mouth to say something, and then-
smoke. flame after flame billows up into the air, blackening the sky, darkening the atmosphere. car clashes into car, rubber and metal and scraps of various materials collide with one another. glass breaks, cuts flesh, leaves open wounds. blood paints the interior leather seats, their clothes, the pavement. deafening alarms sound as swirling lights of red and blue whir into sight.
“no,” is the only thing that comes out of zayn’s mouth, and it’s such a tiny whisper he isn’t sure if liam has heard him or not, but there’s smoke clouding his lungs, suffocating his heart. he remembers. he remembers now and he wish he didn’t and wished that liam hadn’t helped him figure this out because no this can’t be happening and no i cannot be the one responsible for the reason your side of the bed hasn’t been warm in months.
liam leans in close, whispers, “get it?”
///
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