(no subject)
Fandom: One Direction
Title: As the World Falls Down (Soundtrack)
Synopsis: Zayn befriends his new neighbor, Liam, after discovering that Liam is a selective mute. Zayn finds himself fascinated by the concept of someone choosing not to communicate with words.
Characters/Relationships: Ziam
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Thank you to aimmyarrowshigh for great advice and constant encouragement! Also, thank you to silkchemise for giving me advice on how to approach Zayn's Muslim background.
Warning: Marijuana use. More TBA later as the story progresses.
Last Updated: 05/20/12 @ 10:30 p.m.
It was never any secret about there being drugs in the neighborhood. Zayn keeps his sisters out of trouble, although Doniya was smart enough to get the hell out of this place. She's at Sheffield now, and she wants Zayn to join her. He can't leave home, not until Safaa is out. After that, he'll consider going to the countryside and spending the rest of his days reading poetry and sipping tea.
Zayn is smoking a cigarette on the stoop and watching Safaa play on the pathetic excuse for a playground. The others have gone off to a ballet recital or some such thing, and he's watching the thugs a little ways down. They're all strangely civil to people in the neighborhood, but Waliyah has been getting some nasty comments about her in school. Zayn thinks it's more about gender than race, but he's on edge. This whole fucking neighborhood has gone to the dogs, and he's on edge.
A screen door slams on the third floor, and Zayn jumps up without meaning to. It's the new kid. The one with the sweet face.
He lives next to Zayn, and sometimes he can hear fights through the walls while his family is trying to watch the news. He can hear a man's voice shouting and then heavy footsteps and then quiet music. Always the same quiet music, hipster shit, like the stuff they play in American television shows. Zayn sometimes takes for granted how happy his family is even in this place.
The kid doesn't make eye contact as he passes Zayn on the stairs. His cheek and neck are flushed, and Zayn wants to say something. But he can't find the words. He doesn't know this kid. Who is he to bring up the weather when there are fights going on every other night? The same screen door slams again, and Zayn looks up at the prettyish blond who moved in a few years ago. Her name is something old-fashioned. He can't think of it.
"Liam!" she says loudly. The boy spins on his heels and starts when he sees Zayn. "Don't go, sweetie. Come back upstairs and let me fix you a cuppa."
Liam is still looking at Zayn like a cagey animal. It's not panic, not quite, but the boy is tapping his fingers against the metal railing. Although his body is leaning up toward the girl on the third floor, his eyes never leave Zayn. Zayn snuffs his cigarette on his show and backs away from the stoop. Liam takes the opportunity and flies upstairs like an athlete. Zayn waves a bit at Nicola--that's her name! She smiles, but her attention is drawn away by who must be her brother. He recognizes that look on her face, the gentleness behind her eyes. She chucks Liam beneath the chin and waves at Zayn.
He hears the screen door slam for a third time that night and remembers Safaa on the playground. She's still playing with one of her little friends while Zayn ponders the oddity of the afternoon. He stays there on his stoop until dark, until his mom and sister come home.
His mum brings him pad thai and serves Safaa a little plate of rice noodles. Safaa chomps away on them appreciatively and watches Waliyah curling up on her chair like a cat in pink. Zayn doesn't realize he's doing it, but he's listening next door for any signs of a fight. Somehow, knowing the source of the heavy footsteps, he can't quite handle hearing another row. That simple, sweet face and the panicked eyes.
"Mum, do you know ... has Nicola said anything to you about ...?"
"Not now, Zayn," says his mother, looking at Safaa. "We'll talk about it later."
"Yeah, alright," says Zayn and begins eating his pad thai with his fingers. His mom thwacks him on the back of the head with a cloth napkin and settles herself down to eat. He grabs his fork and eats a few bites this way, but gives up on table manners when his mom starts licking her fingers clean. Safaa finally leaves to get her bath, and Zayn's mom rubs her eyes.
"I talked to her about the fighting," says his mum.
"Is it bad?"
"Nicola says no. Only when she's got her brother."
"What, so it's not a permanent arrangement?"
"He'll be here for the school year. I guess ... he wasn't well as a baby. Born without a kidney or something. Had a traumatic experience, you know, and stopped talking for a bit."
"He talks now though?" asks Waliyah. Zayn can tell she's trying to turn this into a thing somehow, and even he understands that it's wrong. It's like faking Tourette's or autism in class so you don't have to give oral presentations.
"No, that's the thing. He was good for a bit but got into an accident a few months back. Woke up in hospital and nearly had a mental breakdown. Hasn't spoken since. Nicola says that it's the longest he's ever gone. Must have been a bit traumatic to wake up there not knowing what happened, I suppose."
"So, what's he got?" asks Waliyah.
"Go get ready for bed," his mum says to Waliyah point-blank. Her patience is wearing thin, and at least Zayn is asking relevant questions.
"So he just ... he doesn't talk? At all?" asks Zayn.
"No, dear. Apparently he's a bit phobic. They want him to have a change of scenery to see if perhaps he won't come around."
That explains the cagey look. If Liam is afraid of hospitals, though, Zayn can't help but thinking this isn't the neighborhood in which to be the new kid. He keeps his mouth shut about it and asks instead, "What made her talk to you about it?"
"Only she's never seen you talk, has she," says his mum like this is the funniest thing in the world. "She thought it was a bit odd that there was two boys selectively mute living next door to each other. I had to talk to her for a while after that. She thought maybe you could pal around with Liam, show him the ropes at school when he starts. I didn't make any commitments on your behalf, but you can run round and tell her yes or no whenever you've made up your mind."
Zayn nods and finishes his noodles. He kisses his mum and sisters goodnight before retiring to do some homework. Not that the assignment is particularly difficult, but he can't focus. He's hyper-aware of every noise coming from the flat next to him. He thinks about all the quiet music played after the fights, like culling songs whispered into the electric air. Somehow he can't concentrate on English homework and decides he better befriend the kid next door.
Lord knows this neighborhood isn't the best place to be different.
***
Three months later, they're inseparable.
Each day, Zayn proves himself trustworthy. Each day for the first month or so, he almost had to hold out his palm for Liam to sniff at. The thought is an unkind one, but it's the only thing Zayn can think of to describe Liam's attitude toward him. He flinches too easily, and sometimes Zayn wants to reach out and touch him all the more for it.
Liam comes over because Nicola is at work. She usually helps him with his English, but when she can't, Zayn isn't terrible at it, he thinks. He likes to read. He used to read Safaa bedtime stories, which is when he found out he liked reading. It wasn't until he read Lord of the Flies that he realized he could love it. He tried getting into the Irish authors, but they were a mite depressing for his tastes. He started out by reading Safaa all the great English children authors. Then he meandered his way through the fiction section at the library. Now he can tell the difference between a proper sentence and what Liam has written for his term paper.
"Liam, please don't be offended by the amount of red ink I'm about to spill all over your paper, all right?"
This seems to stress Liam out, and he puts his head down on the carpet.
"Leem, don't pout. Come up here, and I will read to you," says Safaa.
She has the same fascination with Liam as all the Malik clan has with him: all of them want to be the one to make him speak. Each of the women has her own way of trying to bring him out of his shell. Waliyah smiles and sits close to him on the couch. They don't touch, but apparently Waliyah has decided that Liam is not threatening on a sexual level. She sits close enough that they might touch if maybe he moved suddenly. Zayn watches them and can't tell who he pities more. Tricia feeds him, so much so that he's gotten fat in the face. Zayn likes it. And Safaa, she reads to him.
"Do you want Matilda or Winnie-the-Pooh?"
Liam points to Matilda and settles back on the couch. Safaa opens up the book and stares for a long time at the front page of the book. Her face scrunches up as she starts reading. Zayn catches Liam sneaking a glance at his essay occasionally, but it also means that Liam catches Zayn staring from time to time. At some point during Safaa's melodic narrative, Liam and Zayn both look at each other at the same time. Eyes locked, Zayn smiles nervously.
"Leem, it's okay, don't worry," says Safaa. She's convinced they're staring at each other because of the essay, but Liam seems to flush pink all up and down his neck. He breaks the gaze first and looks at Safaa's book intently. Zayn knows he's ruffled though. He can see it in the way Liam tugs at the stiff upper button on his shirt. Zayn wasn't sure when this friendship first started that he would ever know what Liam as thinking.
Something strikes him in the way Liam is just so flustered about something as innocuous as their eyes meeting, however intense the stare was. Now Liam won't look at him, and his face has gone all tense. Zayn finishes the essay and sets it aside.
"Safaa, I'm going for a smoke," says Zayn.
"Mom is going to be mad at you if you keep smoking, Zayn," she says.
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, will it?" asks Zayn.
"No, Liam, don't go," says Safaa. "Second hand smoke kills!"
She shouts this earnestly as Liam stands up. He picks up a piece of paper and puts it between the two pages Safaa's reading. That's his promise that he'll be back to read with her, and even Safaa knows she can trust that face. He follows Zayn outside and sits a stair beneath him.
He can't take the smoke--won't risk it, says Nicola. It's another thing Zayn has learned about Liam. He does so much to avoid the hospital that it makes Zayn feel a bit guilty. Liam is a runner. Every morning, he wakes up to take a jog around the neighborhood. He is active in sports at school. He eats mostly healthy, although they make a run to Tesco every few nights after Liam is done with football practice. Sometimes Liam even grabs a candy to treat himself. He usually only eats half and saves the rest for Nicola, but Zayn eats until he's lazy. Between the two of them, barely anything gets said. It's all right by Liam despite regular meetings with a therapist, and Zayn doesn't even notice it anymore unless they around other people.
"Your essay isn't bad," says Zayn. He opens his mouth and lets the skeins of smoke escape his lips in a slow, crawling fog. "The ideas are really good. I just think the sentence structure, you know, needs to be moved around."
Liam gives him a small smile. His eyes are so wide open, and Zayn desperately wants to touch his hair. He's not sure why he's so fascinated with developing a physical element to their friendship. They are just friends, and Zayn isn't sure what he would do if Liam actually attempted to make a pass at him. He's not even sure how such an event could occur without any words.
Both of them become more alert at the sound of a car door slamming. Nicola. Nicola has the bad habit of showing up just when Zayn is getting to the bottom of his emotions. The dark, calm pool within himself isn't something he readily accesses, and so it's not for no one that he's thinking about it now. It's Liam, who is sweet and intelligent and calm.
"Hey, you lot," says Nicola. Her makeup is running, and Liam stands up immediately. She's been crying.
"What's wrong, Nicola?"
"I broke up with Martin today," she says.
"I'm sorry," says Zayn.
"No, no," says Nicola. "It was long overdue."
She does her best not to look at Liam, but that in and of itself is a giveaway to the source of the discontent between she and her boyfriend. Liam slouches against the railing and allows Nicola to lead him upstairs. She goes inside before Liam, who stands between doors like he doesn't know who is in more need of his services.
"Go be with your sister. I'll bring your books and things over after dinner."
He nods and gives a little wave. Zayn snuffs his cigarette against the brick facade of the building and waits until Liam is disappearing through the door to his own flat before he goes inside to entertain Safaa.
***
When he comes over later, Liam is having a cuddle with Nicola on the couch. He puts Liam's books and essay on the dinner table and sits down beside the two. Liam's trouser leg is damp from where Nicola's sobbed into it, and Liam looks like he's on the verge of tears himself. He absently strokes his sister's hair while Zayn wonders if he should act like a surrogate brother on Liam's behalf.
"Do you want to talk about it, Nicola?"
"There's nothing to talk about. He wasn't good to Liam, was he? Calling him cruel names, not to his face, but these walls are so thin."
Zayn feels awkward that she's talking about Liam like he isn't there, but he thinks about all the conversations he's had with people while Liam is around. He thinks of all the things Nicola has ever said to him about Liam. He thinks of even a few times where Martin took them on a Tesco run and talked about how Martin used to teach Liam how to do a bit of karate. Everything he learns about Liam from before the accident is second-hand knowledge.
Things he knows about Liam now seem more intimate for this reason. He knows Liam only has one kidney and doesn't smoke or drink. He knows Liam won't go near spoons for some odd reason, and Nicola can't even help him figure that one out. Zayn knows plenty about this Liam, the silent one, the Monk of South Yorkshire.
"I can pop over to the shop to get some ice cream. We'll have a girl's night in. I'll even let you talk me into one of your movies."
Liam smiles at Zayn, and a moment later, Nicola sits up. She looks between the boys as if contemplating the offer.
"Do you have schoolwork?" she asks finally.
"We've just finished except for a bit of editing," says Zayn.
"Yeah, all right then. I'll let you boys cook me spaghetti while I take a shower. Then we'll watch a girly movie. You don't mind, Liam?"
In reply, he leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She smiles a bit and heads off to start a shower. It's only when he hears the water running that Liam slumps back on the sofa and takes in a ragged breath. Zayn doesn't know what to do. He puts his hand on Liam's shoulder and waits for a moment for the boy to speak. It hits him only after a few moments that Liam may never speak again.
"Liam, it isn't your fault," says Zayn quietly. One of Liam's eyebrows arches in Zayn's direction. "No, people like Martin are ignorant and terrible. Nicola deserves a fuck-ton better than that prat any day of the week. Can you imagine if she'd married him? That would be your brother. Can you imagine Christmas hols with that prick sitting across the table from you?"
Liam shakes his head and picks at one of his cuticles. Zayn tugs on his shirtsleeve and stands up. Spaghetti isn't going to make itself, and they did promise the lady some spaghetti. Liam stands, and he winds up so close to Zayn that their faces are just inches from each other. In the movies, this is where the boy and girl would share their first kiss. He's looking at a boy, however, and he's still not sure how that makes him feel. He's never thought about kissing a boy before, but Liam's lips look soft and wet and ... kissable.
Liam looks at Zayn's lips and licks his own. The act itself seems like some sort of unconscious decision, and then Liam flushes red again. He backs up a step and walks around the sofa the other way. There's a clatter of pots and pans, and Zayn takes a moment to compose himself. He is smiling ear to ear, and it's all because he doesn't need Liam to speak to know one very crucial thing.
Liam is thinking about kissing him too.
***
Zayn convinces Liam to go out dancing. It's not something Zayn is particularly good at, but this is a basement sort of dance scene where everyone is too close together to really show off their skills anyway. It's more of a place to go to hook up, and since Zayn only wants to touch Liam, he figures it's at least a good avenue to establish what sort of boundaries this weird friendship has.
They stop at the bar first, and Liam gets a water while Zayn goes for a cheap beer and puts down a tenner. Liam smiles at him and looks around at the club. It's nerve-wracking to think of Liam getting claustrophobic in this big mass, but he surprises Zayn with the ease in which he files into the crowd.
And the ease with which he moves.
Zayn was expecting Liam to be like him -- terrible at dancing, but good enough to fake his way through a decent beat. Instead Zayn finds that he can coordinate his hips with his hands. Zayn finish his beer and joins Liam on the floor. He hopes it isn't too conspicuous that he has absolutely no interest in the girls. He starts following Liam's lead, dancing more with his arms than the rest of his body. It's not long, though, before two girls move over to them and start dancing close enough to grab their attention but not close enough to imply they want company.
Zayn's first instinct is to talk, but Liam only makes eye contact with the ballerina. He can tell she's a ballerina because of how muscular she is, and yet she's petite. Zayn also knows about her because she teaches at the local dance studio. Waliyah was in one of her classes, and Zayn tried to pick her up a few times. She wasn't very responsive and he gave up in exchange for girls who actually had an interest. It was better for his ego that way.
Her friend moves closer to Zayn and nods at him. There's an opportunity to share a few polite words when the music breaks, but he's not going to risk ruining his appeal.
"So, what, you wanna get out of here?" she says finally. Three songs have played, all of them are sweating up a storm, and the dancer looks like she's found a bloody unicorn right here in South Yorkshire. She is staring at Liam as if ready for him to start asking her offensive questions. Zayn laughs and taps Liam on the shoulder.
"What do you say, Liam?"
Liam shrugs. The way his hair is plastered to his forehead drives Zayn a little crazy. He wants to reach out and push the hair out of his eyes. He knows the fantasy doesn't stop there, but if he were to keep coursing down that train of thought, he knows it'll end in an unresolved hard-on and pent up sexual frustration. Those sort of observations, if anyone were to notice him staring at his guy friend and the resulting physical developments, could lead a boy in this neighborhood in worse situations than Zayn wants to imagine.
"Takeout then, or what?"
"Danielle can't cause she's a dancer," says the girl. Her accent is hard to hear through the bass of the next song. "We can go and hang out at yours? I have some spliffs I'm willing to share."
"My sisters are at home. Let's go to the playground then," says Zayn.
Everyone from their neighborhood knows that the best place to get high is the abandoned playground. Liam helps Danielle over some rubble, and Zayn's date -- that's what he'll call her, his date -- refuses help and stumbles over the fallen cinder block in high heels. These quiet little talents that the females in his life boast make Zayn quietly envious. The way his mother can put on lipstick without ever looking in a mirror or how Waliyah can coordinate color schemes in the half-asleep daze as she gets ready for school. Safaa and Doniyah have talents too, he's sure, but he can't quite think about that because he feels like he barely knows his other sisters.
"So, what's his deal then?" asks his date.
"Whose?"
"The mime," she says, nodding over at Liam.
"Oh, it's just he doesn't talk," says Zayn.
"Well, you're not exactly a chatterbox either, except Danielle told me you've hit on her a few times before. Is it some sort of game he plays?"
"No. Liam is a puppy. He's got some sort of psychological thing. Doesn't talk."
"Not ever?" she asks.
"Not ever," he says.
"Oh, Danielle is going to love that. She hates chatty boys."
Zayn frowns and joins the other two at the tire swing. The four of them manage to fit around the old swing. Eight legs huddle together in the center while the cotton of the girls' leggings creates friction against the boys' jeans. His date lights a spliff and passes it to Liam. Zayn expects him to decline, but he takes a long drag of thick smoke and holds it in his lungs for well over a minute. It's impressive. Even the girls think so.
"So, I know Liam," says Danielle. "And that's Cass there. Who are you, then?"
"Zayn," he says and accepts the joint.
"What kind of name is Zayn for a Muslim?" asks Cass.
"It means beauty in Arabic," says Zayn.
Danielle laughs as if this makes all the sense in the world. "And, what about you? I keep expecting you to ruin that pretty face with ugly words."
"Danielle, he doesn't talk. Apparently it's psychological."
Cass doesn't appear to be the most tactful person on the planet, but with that accent and those good looks, she probably doesn't need to be any one thing. She's a conundrum, a wiry little fighter from someplace tougher than South Yorkshire.
Danielle reaches up and pushes Liam's hair out of his eyes. He squints but allows the attention. Zayn in turn accepts the spliff and takes his own hit. He doesn't want to be sober if this is how the night is going to go. He can't stand the thought of having to make out with Cass while he watches out of the corner of his eye as Danielle makes out with Liam.
"Do you dance?" asks Danielle.
Liam both nods and shrugs.
"I need some boys to help me out at the studio. I'm teaching the girls lifts, and I don't have enough boys in my class. You think you could lend me some help?"
Liam nods and looks at Zayn.
"You can come too if you like, Zayn. I can teach you how to do the basic moves."
Zayn sighs and looks down at the mess of legs wedged together in the center of the tire. "Safaa will be pleased," he says finally.
"Safaa is your sister?"
"Yeah, and Waliyah."
"I remember Waliyah. You used her as an excuse to pick me up."
This makes Zayn slump a bit more. The weed has made him miserable, and now he's going to be stuck dancing with a bunch of eight-year-olds because his friend doesn't realize that boys do not do ballet in this neighborhood. All for a girl. A pang called jealousy hits him in the gut. He watches Danielle watch Liam and wonders if this is what happens to people destined to get out of the neighborhood some day.
Zayn feels a foot grab hold of his ankle. He thinks its Cass, but she's pulled her feet up out of the tire and has them wrapped around either side of Danielle's waist. It's Liam, then. Liam is smiling at him sleepily from across the swing while he listens to Danielle talking. This is destined to be a theme in their relationship, and Zayn isn't sure whether he should feel grateful for any of Liam's attention or betrayed that he has to share it with Danielle.
***
You were a slow burn on an autumn night. Honeyed milk in the moonlight.
I'm shit at poetry, but you have to know how you looked to us. Even though Danielle said she could barely stand you, she kept glancing at you every few beats to see if you were looking her way. But you weren't. You just kept looking at me. So that's when I knew I wasn't wrong about you. You wanted to kiss me -- maybe more, maybe much more. You wanted to dance with me that night and then kiss me, maybe when we got home or maybe not.
We walked the girls home, and Danielle programmed her number into my phone. Cass didn't even bother. She thanked us for a good time and then stumbled inside on those heels of hers. Then it was just us.
You were giddy. I'm sure both of us were still stoned, but only enough to make us delight in whatever spark crackled between us that night. Everyone was asleep at your house when we got home. You casually held the door open for me as if I had already accepted the invitation inside, and I obliged because Nicola wasn't home.
But it was more than that, I think.
I obliged because we could sleep in. We could spend all day tomorrow poring over the mistakes of today. I obliged because I really did not want to leave you for that desolate house, knowing that all the while I sat in my room alone you were only a wall away. We got into your room, and though I'd been there a few times before, I made the bold move to lay down on your bed.
I wasn't being presumptuous. I was stoned and happy and warm. My head hit your Qur'an and knocked a few notes out of it, and I felt the weight of a fourteen hundred years of Islamic history searing against my temple. I was embarrassed because I felt like I had offended you. You just smiled and then kissed your Book. Then, you flopped into bed beside me, opened the book, and started reading.
"Al-Fatihah," you said. We were touching, but only barely. I wanted to watch your mouth as you spoke, so I turned on my belly and watched. You seemed unabashed as you spoke Urdu. I'd heard you chant those sacred words so many times through the walls, and yet I had never quite considered that this is what you looked like while you read your Book.
Quiet. Calm. Steadfast in your faith, while your free hand drifted just enough that it touched the fabric of my shirt. I waited for you to take a breath, to pause long enough that it would not disrupt the rhythm of your words, before taking your Book gently away. I was sober then, and all I wanted was to bring your lips to life in a substantially different way.
You tensed up when I touched my thumb to your lip. I didn't dare go any further in case I had already overstepped my bounds. You grabbed your Book away and stood. I thought perhaps I had hurt your feelings. I watched as you kissed the book again and placed it on a shelf high up on the wall. When you came back, you sunk into bed again beside me and scooted close. Then your hand cupped my elbow and pulled me forward. I had to shuffle a bit until our heads were almost touching.
You kissed me first. I hadn't been kissed in ages, and I must have made a noise. You fell back against the pillow and looked at me for long enough that I blushed. Your cocksure smile told me you knew that you were my first kiss in a while, but something in your eyes let me know that you weren't hopeful enough to believe that I was your first ever. So I kissed you second. I kissed you like I had kissed only one other boy in my life. I touched your tongue with mine and felt a thrill excite the hairs on the back of my neck. My stomach dropped, and I deepened the kiss as I grew greedy. Your hand cupped my elbow a little tighter. My own hands were stuck beneath me, so I touched you with my lips -- away from your mouth, across the stubble growing on your jaw, then down to the sweet spot right below your ear where I could feel your pulse against my lips. This was the best way I could think to end our first kiss. A single kiss against your throat, a plea and a promise. The ball was in your field.
When I pulled away, you sighed. You looked sidelong at the bookshelf where your Qur'an lay, and I wondered if this would be the theme that defined our relationship -- a boy too tortured to choose either lover or religion. Believe me, the stories I made up in my head for you were epic. You were cast to sea and gobbled up by a giant whale. That's a metaphor or a simile, can't remember which. The point is I knew you'd always have to choose, but I was selfish.
I wanted you to choose me.
***
Seasons come and go until winter yields to early spring.
Liam and Zayn have lost count of stolen kisses and sloppy handjobs in the back of Nicola's car. With each passing day, they fall deeper into whatever strange relationship led them to the here and now. Liam is still not talking, and Zayn finds himself depressed that his father has been gone for too long now. It's not a vacation anymore, and the flimsy excuse that he's taking care of his sick mother makes Zayn even angrier. His father's family needs him, but Zayn and the girls need him too.
Nights like this are strange. Zayn says even less than Liam on these nights. His entire body becomes an expressionless sonnet of sorrow and grief. Liam curls close and nuzzles his neck, trying to stir something in him. Zayn swats his nose like he's some sort of puppy, and Liam only curls closer.
They have a new friend who tags along. Obviously not on nights like this, but on other nights.
He's a bloke called Niall.
Irish and optimistic, Niall got swept up in the mix after a strategy gone terribly wrong. Little Niall had thought the only way to remain untouched and unharmed in neighborhood like Bradford was to pick on the biggest, meanest boy in school. Liam found Niall crouched in one of the lavatory stalls, cradling a sprained wrist and trying to keep blood from dripping all over his uniform. Liam wrapped a bit of his boxing tape around Niall's wrist and held soggy Kleenex in his nose until the bleeding had stopped.
Zayn had learned this all from Niall, who had followed Liam around school until they met Zayn at the flagpole near the car park.
"He doesn't talk," said Niall with a frown. The nurse had slung his arm and told him to stop being a daft mick if he wanted to survive this place. Niall seemed to think he'd been discriminated against.
"Yeah, when you're half-Muslim and half-Anglo in a neighborhood that has both skinheads and Muslims, you tell me you're being discriminated against."
Niall blushed and apologized for his ignorance and offered to buy them both a pint if they were willing. Liam shrugged and looked over Niall's shoulder at the boy Niall had punched. It was a strange phenomenon at school. Either they wouldn't hit him because everyone called him crippled or because he always carried around a gym bag filled with boxing gloves, but no one fucked about with Liam.
After a few pints, Liam gave permission to Zayn to explain why he never spoke, and Niall only nodded as if he were genuinely interested. They found out he only punched Trevor Murphy because he didn't want people to pick on him for being the new kid. He explained that he was always the new kid and that the strategy had worked in every other town he'd visited. Zayn wanted to ask him where he'd been, but it seemed like an invasion of privacy somehow. It was a loaded question, and Niall might tell them in time.
That was back before Christmas holiday.
In some ways, Zayn prefers to have a second friend hanging about. It makes him feel less conspicuous. It also makes his relationship with Liam more clandestine. He has to hide it better than before, and it makes them more careful. They've found a spot by a lake, thirty minutes out of Bradford, where they drive every Wednesday and Sunday when Nicola lets them have the car.
"Do you ever wish we could be something more?" asks Zayn.
Liam looks up at him and traces the soft flesh beneath his jaw bone. He nods and shrugs at once. As if to say, Sure, but there's pros and cons to it. The world is cruel to boys like us, and anyway, what we have is special. There's really no need to expose the soft parts of our hearts to the world only to have people drive a knife through them. That's what Zayn imagines him saying, anyway.
Zayn curls around Liam, and in the dark, they begin to resemble the Yin and Yang.
***
Zayn only catches brief glimpses of Nicola's new boyfriend. She seems happy enough, and Liam doesn't seem all that bothered by the masculine influence now living beneath his roof. If anything, it leaves Liam more time to himself. Craig is quiet enough and doesn't call Liam terrible names. Zayn has yet to see the boy, but there's a different laugh through the walls some nights and then the muffled sounds of other stuff when Zayn is trying to sleep.
Niall is a new fixture in his life too, and sometimes it's a blessing. Other times, it's a curse. The kid has an infectious sense of optimism. He bleeds the stuff. Still, he tempers out the moodiness that Zayn brings to the picture. Niall also plays football, so he and Liam run around together in the cold and the wet while Zayn writes in his book.
Zayn has learned to enjoy these little scrimmages in the yard. He doesn't care much for the sport, but Liam tends to laugh more these days. Zayn starts to wonder if Niall won't be the cure to his boy's affliction. Zayn was jealous about it at first, but now he just revels in the possibility of Liam whispering his name.
"Yo, Malik," says Niall.
"Yeah?"
"We're talking about doing Nandos and then hitting the cinema. You in?"
"I can't. Dad's late on the monthly payments so money's tight," says Zayn.
"Your parents are divorced?"
"No, no. My dad is taking care of his brother out in Bristol."
"What's he got?" asks Niall as he sits down beside Zayn on the bench. Liam comes over too and starts putting his shirt and jumper back on.
"Some funny disorder that makes him twitchy. I'm not sure what it is. I haven't seen my uncle in years."
"Right. Well, Liam, you in? No? Well, lads, we'll just have to call it a night then."
"You can go get your precious Nandos then come over to my flat."
Niall looks a bit squirrelly at the suggestion. He has a hard time going anywhere in the neighborhood without his great valiant protector.
"Maybe you ought to spend time teaching him how to fight," says Zayn quietly. "Instead of all this football. Danielle has all that extra space at night in the dance studio."
"I'm a pacifist, boys," says Niall.
"A pacifist who hits people."
"I only hit people to prevent violence against my person."
Zayn shakes his head. Sometimes Niall is a difficult pill to swallow. Liam just shrugs.
"I can't pay you or anything," says Niall.
Liam shrugs again and picks up his bag.
"Liam's sister's ex-boyfriend used to teach us a bit about how to defend ourselves. He was a bigot and an arse, but at least he knew how to throw a punch. Liam knew a fair bit about that before he came here, but Martin helped a little."
"You mean it?" Niall asks Liam.
Liam nods.
"Let's go get changed then. I suppose I ought to call Danielle too and see if it's okay if we use the studio for a bit."
Liam sighs and hands over his phone.
"So, what, you have to call his girlfriend for him?" asks Niall.
"Danielle isn't really his girlfriend. It's complicated."
"How complicated can it be?" asks Niall.
Zayn and Liam share a look. If only Niall knew.
***
Title: As the World Falls Down (Soundtrack)
Synopsis: Zayn befriends his new neighbor, Liam, after discovering that Liam is a selective mute. Zayn finds himself fascinated by the concept of someone choosing not to communicate with words.
Characters/Relationships: Ziam
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Thank you to aimmyarrowshigh for great advice and constant encouragement! Also, thank you to silkchemise for giving me advice on how to approach Zayn's Muslim background.
Warning: Marijuana use. More TBA later as the story progresses.
Last Updated: 05/20/12 @ 10:30 p.m.
It was never any secret about there being drugs in the neighborhood. Zayn keeps his sisters out of trouble, although Doniya was smart enough to get the hell out of this place. She's at Sheffield now, and she wants Zayn to join her. He can't leave home, not until Safaa is out. After that, he'll consider going to the countryside and spending the rest of his days reading poetry and sipping tea.
Zayn is smoking a cigarette on the stoop and watching Safaa play on the pathetic excuse for a playground. The others have gone off to a ballet recital or some such thing, and he's watching the thugs a little ways down. They're all strangely civil to people in the neighborhood, but Waliyah has been getting some nasty comments about her in school. Zayn thinks it's more about gender than race, but he's on edge. This whole fucking neighborhood has gone to the dogs, and he's on edge.
A screen door slams on the third floor, and Zayn jumps up without meaning to. It's the new kid. The one with the sweet face.
He lives next to Zayn, and sometimes he can hear fights through the walls while his family is trying to watch the news. He can hear a man's voice shouting and then heavy footsteps and then quiet music. Always the same quiet music, hipster shit, like the stuff they play in American television shows. Zayn sometimes takes for granted how happy his family is even in this place.
The kid doesn't make eye contact as he passes Zayn on the stairs. His cheek and neck are flushed, and Zayn wants to say something. But he can't find the words. He doesn't know this kid. Who is he to bring up the weather when there are fights going on every other night? The same screen door slams again, and Zayn looks up at the prettyish blond who moved in a few years ago. Her name is something old-fashioned. He can't think of it.
"Liam!" she says loudly. The boy spins on his heels and starts when he sees Zayn. "Don't go, sweetie. Come back upstairs and let me fix you a cuppa."
Liam is still looking at Zayn like a cagey animal. It's not panic, not quite, but the boy is tapping his fingers against the metal railing. Although his body is leaning up toward the girl on the third floor, his eyes never leave Zayn. Zayn snuffs his cigarette on his show and backs away from the stoop. Liam takes the opportunity and flies upstairs like an athlete. Zayn waves a bit at Nicola--that's her name! She smiles, but her attention is drawn away by who must be her brother. He recognizes that look on her face, the gentleness behind her eyes. She chucks Liam beneath the chin and waves at Zayn.
He hears the screen door slam for a third time that night and remembers Safaa on the playground. She's still playing with one of her little friends while Zayn ponders the oddity of the afternoon. He stays there on his stoop until dark, until his mom and sister come home.
His mum brings him pad thai and serves Safaa a little plate of rice noodles. Safaa chomps away on them appreciatively and watches Waliyah curling up on her chair like a cat in pink. Zayn doesn't realize he's doing it, but he's listening next door for any signs of a fight. Somehow, knowing the source of the heavy footsteps, he can't quite handle hearing another row. That simple, sweet face and the panicked eyes.
"Mum, do you know ... has Nicola said anything to you about ...?"
"Not now, Zayn," says his mother, looking at Safaa. "We'll talk about it later."
"Yeah, alright," says Zayn and begins eating his pad thai with his fingers. His mom thwacks him on the back of the head with a cloth napkin and settles herself down to eat. He grabs his fork and eats a few bites this way, but gives up on table manners when his mom starts licking her fingers clean. Safaa finally leaves to get her bath, and Zayn's mom rubs her eyes.
"I talked to her about the fighting," says his mum.
"Is it bad?"
"Nicola says no. Only when she's got her brother."
"What, so it's not a permanent arrangement?"
"He'll be here for the school year. I guess ... he wasn't well as a baby. Born without a kidney or something. Had a traumatic experience, you know, and stopped talking for a bit."
"He talks now though?" asks Waliyah. Zayn can tell she's trying to turn this into a thing somehow, and even he understands that it's wrong. It's like faking Tourette's or autism in class so you don't have to give oral presentations.
"No, that's the thing. He was good for a bit but got into an accident a few months back. Woke up in hospital and nearly had a mental breakdown. Hasn't spoken since. Nicola says that it's the longest he's ever gone. Must have been a bit traumatic to wake up there not knowing what happened, I suppose."
"So, what's he got?" asks Waliyah.
"Go get ready for bed," his mum says to Waliyah point-blank. Her patience is wearing thin, and at least Zayn is asking relevant questions.
"So he just ... he doesn't talk? At all?" asks Zayn.
"No, dear. Apparently he's a bit phobic. They want him to have a change of scenery to see if perhaps he won't come around."
That explains the cagey look. If Liam is afraid of hospitals, though, Zayn can't help but thinking this isn't the neighborhood in which to be the new kid. He keeps his mouth shut about it and asks instead, "What made her talk to you about it?"
"Only she's never seen you talk, has she," says his mum like this is the funniest thing in the world. "She thought it was a bit odd that there was two boys selectively mute living next door to each other. I had to talk to her for a while after that. She thought maybe you could pal around with Liam, show him the ropes at school when he starts. I didn't make any commitments on your behalf, but you can run round and tell her yes or no whenever you've made up your mind."
Zayn nods and finishes his noodles. He kisses his mum and sisters goodnight before retiring to do some homework. Not that the assignment is particularly difficult, but he can't focus. He's hyper-aware of every noise coming from the flat next to him. He thinks about all the quiet music played after the fights, like culling songs whispered into the electric air. Somehow he can't concentrate on English homework and decides he better befriend the kid next door.
Lord knows this neighborhood isn't the best place to be different.
***
Three months later, they're inseparable.
Each day, Zayn proves himself trustworthy. Each day for the first month or so, he almost had to hold out his palm for Liam to sniff at. The thought is an unkind one, but it's the only thing Zayn can think of to describe Liam's attitude toward him. He flinches too easily, and sometimes Zayn wants to reach out and touch him all the more for it.
Liam comes over because Nicola is at work. She usually helps him with his English, but when she can't, Zayn isn't terrible at it, he thinks. He likes to read. He used to read Safaa bedtime stories, which is when he found out he liked reading. It wasn't until he read Lord of the Flies that he realized he could love it. He tried getting into the Irish authors, but they were a mite depressing for his tastes. He started out by reading Safaa all the great English children authors. Then he meandered his way through the fiction section at the library. Now he can tell the difference between a proper sentence and what Liam has written for his term paper.
"Liam, please don't be offended by the amount of red ink I'm about to spill all over your paper, all right?"
This seems to stress Liam out, and he puts his head down on the carpet.
"Leem, don't pout. Come up here, and I will read to you," says Safaa.
She has the same fascination with Liam as all the Malik clan has with him: all of them want to be the one to make him speak. Each of the women has her own way of trying to bring him out of his shell. Waliyah smiles and sits close to him on the couch. They don't touch, but apparently Waliyah has decided that Liam is not threatening on a sexual level. She sits close enough that they might touch if maybe he moved suddenly. Zayn watches them and can't tell who he pities more. Tricia feeds him, so much so that he's gotten fat in the face. Zayn likes it. And Safaa, she reads to him.
"Do you want Matilda or Winnie-the-Pooh?"
Liam points to Matilda and settles back on the couch. Safaa opens up the book and stares for a long time at the front page of the book. Her face scrunches up as she starts reading. Zayn catches Liam sneaking a glance at his essay occasionally, but it also means that Liam catches Zayn staring from time to time. At some point during Safaa's melodic narrative, Liam and Zayn both look at each other at the same time. Eyes locked, Zayn smiles nervously.
"Leem, it's okay, don't worry," says Safaa. She's convinced they're staring at each other because of the essay, but Liam seems to flush pink all up and down his neck. He breaks the gaze first and looks at Safaa's book intently. Zayn knows he's ruffled though. He can see it in the way Liam tugs at the stiff upper button on his shirt. Zayn wasn't sure when this friendship first started that he would ever know what Liam as thinking.
Something strikes him in the way Liam is just so flustered about something as innocuous as their eyes meeting, however intense the stare was. Now Liam won't look at him, and his face has gone all tense. Zayn finishes the essay and sets it aside.
"Safaa, I'm going for a smoke," says Zayn.
"Mom is going to be mad at you if you keep smoking, Zayn," she says.
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, will it?" asks Zayn.
"No, Liam, don't go," says Safaa. "Second hand smoke kills!"
She shouts this earnestly as Liam stands up. He picks up a piece of paper and puts it between the two pages Safaa's reading. That's his promise that he'll be back to read with her, and even Safaa knows she can trust that face. He follows Zayn outside and sits a stair beneath him.
He can't take the smoke--won't risk it, says Nicola. It's another thing Zayn has learned about Liam. He does so much to avoid the hospital that it makes Zayn feel a bit guilty. Liam is a runner. Every morning, he wakes up to take a jog around the neighborhood. He is active in sports at school. He eats mostly healthy, although they make a run to Tesco every few nights after Liam is done with football practice. Sometimes Liam even grabs a candy to treat himself. He usually only eats half and saves the rest for Nicola, but Zayn eats until he's lazy. Between the two of them, barely anything gets said. It's all right by Liam despite regular meetings with a therapist, and Zayn doesn't even notice it anymore unless they around other people.
"Your essay isn't bad," says Zayn. He opens his mouth and lets the skeins of smoke escape his lips in a slow, crawling fog. "The ideas are really good. I just think the sentence structure, you know, needs to be moved around."
Liam gives him a small smile. His eyes are so wide open, and Zayn desperately wants to touch his hair. He's not sure why he's so fascinated with developing a physical element to their friendship. They are just friends, and Zayn isn't sure what he would do if Liam actually attempted to make a pass at him. He's not even sure how such an event could occur without any words.
Both of them become more alert at the sound of a car door slamming. Nicola. Nicola has the bad habit of showing up just when Zayn is getting to the bottom of his emotions. The dark, calm pool within himself isn't something he readily accesses, and so it's not for no one that he's thinking about it now. It's Liam, who is sweet and intelligent and calm.
"Hey, you lot," says Nicola. Her makeup is running, and Liam stands up immediately. She's been crying.
"What's wrong, Nicola?"
"I broke up with Martin today," she says.
"I'm sorry," says Zayn.
"No, no," says Nicola. "It was long overdue."
She does her best not to look at Liam, but that in and of itself is a giveaway to the source of the discontent between she and her boyfriend. Liam slouches against the railing and allows Nicola to lead him upstairs. She goes inside before Liam, who stands between doors like he doesn't know who is in more need of his services.
"Go be with your sister. I'll bring your books and things over after dinner."
He nods and gives a little wave. Zayn snuffs his cigarette against the brick facade of the building and waits until Liam is disappearing through the door to his own flat before he goes inside to entertain Safaa.
***
When he comes over later, Liam is having a cuddle with Nicola on the couch. He puts Liam's books and essay on the dinner table and sits down beside the two. Liam's trouser leg is damp from where Nicola's sobbed into it, and Liam looks like he's on the verge of tears himself. He absently strokes his sister's hair while Zayn wonders if he should act like a surrogate brother on Liam's behalf.
"Do you want to talk about it, Nicola?"
"There's nothing to talk about. He wasn't good to Liam, was he? Calling him cruel names, not to his face, but these walls are so thin."
Zayn feels awkward that she's talking about Liam like he isn't there, but he thinks about all the conversations he's had with people while Liam is around. He thinks of all the things Nicola has ever said to him about Liam. He thinks of even a few times where Martin took them on a Tesco run and talked about how Martin used to teach Liam how to do a bit of karate. Everything he learns about Liam from before the accident is second-hand knowledge.
Things he knows about Liam now seem more intimate for this reason. He knows Liam only has one kidney and doesn't smoke or drink. He knows Liam won't go near spoons for some odd reason, and Nicola can't even help him figure that one out. Zayn knows plenty about this Liam, the silent one, the Monk of South Yorkshire.
"I can pop over to the shop to get some ice cream. We'll have a girl's night in. I'll even let you talk me into one of your movies."
Liam smiles at Zayn, and a moment later, Nicola sits up. She looks between the boys as if contemplating the offer.
"Do you have schoolwork?" she asks finally.
"We've just finished except for a bit of editing," says Zayn.
"Yeah, all right then. I'll let you boys cook me spaghetti while I take a shower. Then we'll watch a girly movie. You don't mind, Liam?"
In reply, he leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She smiles a bit and heads off to start a shower. It's only when he hears the water running that Liam slumps back on the sofa and takes in a ragged breath. Zayn doesn't know what to do. He puts his hand on Liam's shoulder and waits for a moment for the boy to speak. It hits him only after a few moments that Liam may never speak again.
"Liam, it isn't your fault," says Zayn quietly. One of Liam's eyebrows arches in Zayn's direction. "No, people like Martin are ignorant and terrible. Nicola deserves a fuck-ton better than that prat any day of the week. Can you imagine if she'd married him? That would be your brother. Can you imagine Christmas hols with that prick sitting across the table from you?"
Liam shakes his head and picks at one of his cuticles. Zayn tugs on his shirtsleeve and stands up. Spaghetti isn't going to make itself, and they did promise the lady some spaghetti. Liam stands, and he winds up so close to Zayn that their faces are just inches from each other. In the movies, this is where the boy and girl would share their first kiss. He's looking at a boy, however, and he's still not sure how that makes him feel. He's never thought about kissing a boy before, but Liam's lips look soft and wet and ... kissable.
Liam looks at Zayn's lips and licks his own. The act itself seems like some sort of unconscious decision, and then Liam flushes red again. He backs up a step and walks around the sofa the other way. There's a clatter of pots and pans, and Zayn takes a moment to compose himself. He is smiling ear to ear, and it's all because he doesn't need Liam to speak to know one very crucial thing.
Liam is thinking about kissing him too.
***
Zayn convinces Liam to go out dancing. It's not something Zayn is particularly good at, but this is a basement sort of dance scene where everyone is too close together to really show off their skills anyway. It's more of a place to go to hook up, and since Zayn only wants to touch Liam, he figures it's at least a good avenue to establish what sort of boundaries this weird friendship has.
They stop at the bar first, and Liam gets a water while Zayn goes for a cheap beer and puts down a tenner. Liam smiles at him and looks around at the club. It's nerve-wracking to think of Liam getting claustrophobic in this big mass, but he surprises Zayn with the ease in which he files into the crowd.
And the ease with which he moves.
Zayn was expecting Liam to be like him -- terrible at dancing, but good enough to fake his way through a decent beat. Instead Zayn finds that he can coordinate his hips with his hands. Zayn finish his beer and joins Liam on the floor. He hopes it isn't too conspicuous that he has absolutely no interest in the girls. He starts following Liam's lead, dancing more with his arms than the rest of his body. It's not long, though, before two girls move over to them and start dancing close enough to grab their attention but not close enough to imply they want company.
Zayn's first instinct is to talk, but Liam only makes eye contact with the ballerina. He can tell she's a ballerina because of how muscular she is, and yet she's petite. Zayn also knows about her because she teaches at the local dance studio. Waliyah was in one of her classes, and Zayn tried to pick her up a few times. She wasn't very responsive and he gave up in exchange for girls who actually had an interest. It was better for his ego that way.
Her friend moves closer to Zayn and nods at him. There's an opportunity to share a few polite words when the music breaks, but he's not going to risk ruining his appeal.
"So, what, you wanna get out of here?" she says finally. Three songs have played, all of them are sweating up a storm, and the dancer looks like she's found a bloody unicorn right here in South Yorkshire. She is staring at Liam as if ready for him to start asking her offensive questions. Zayn laughs and taps Liam on the shoulder.
"What do you say, Liam?"
Liam shrugs. The way his hair is plastered to his forehead drives Zayn a little crazy. He wants to reach out and push the hair out of his eyes. He knows the fantasy doesn't stop there, but if he were to keep coursing down that train of thought, he knows it'll end in an unresolved hard-on and pent up sexual frustration. Those sort of observations, if anyone were to notice him staring at his guy friend and the resulting physical developments, could lead a boy in this neighborhood in worse situations than Zayn wants to imagine.
"Takeout then, or what?"
"Danielle can't cause she's a dancer," says the girl. Her accent is hard to hear through the bass of the next song. "We can go and hang out at yours? I have some spliffs I'm willing to share."
"My sisters are at home. Let's go to the playground then," says Zayn.
Everyone from their neighborhood knows that the best place to get high is the abandoned playground. Liam helps Danielle over some rubble, and Zayn's date -- that's what he'll call her, his date -- refuses help and stumbles over the fallen cinder block in high heels. These quiet little talents that the females in his life boast make Zayn quietly envious. The way his mother can put on lipstick without ever looking in a mirror or how Waliyah can coordinate color schemes in the half-asleep daze as she gets ready for school. Safaa and Doniyah have talents too, he's sure, but he can't quite think about that because he feels like he barely knows his other sisters.
"So, what's his deal then?" asks his date.
"Whose?"
"The mime," she says, nodding over at Liam.
"Oh, it's just he doesn't talk," says Zayn.
"Well, you're not exactly a chatterbox either, except Danielle told me you've hit on her a few times before. Is it some sort of game he plays?"
"No. Liam is a puppy. He's got some sort of psychological thing. Doesn't talk."
"Not ever?" she asks.
"Not ever," he says.
"Oh, Danielle is going to love that. She hates chatty boys."
Zayn frowns and joins the other two at the tire swing. The four of them manage to fit around the old swing. Eight legs huddle together in the center while the cotton of the girls' leggings creates friction against the boys' jeans. His date lights a spliff and passes it to Liam. Zayn expects him to decline, but he takes a long drag of thick smoke and holds it in his lungs for well over a minute. It's impressive. Even the girls think so.
"So, I know Liam," says Danielle. "And that's Cass there. Who are you, then?"
"Zayn," he says and accepts the joint.
"What kind of name is Zayn for a Muslim?" asks Cass.
"It means beauty in Arabic," says Zayn.
Danielle laughs as if this makes all the sense in the world. "And, what about you? I keep expecting you to ruin that pretty face with ugly words."
"Danielle, he doesn't talk. Apparently it's psychological."
Cass doesn't appear to be the most tactful person on the planet, but with that accent and those good looks, she probably doesn't need to be any one thing. She's a conundrum, a wiry little fighter from someplace tougher than South Yorkshire.
Danielle reaches up and pushes Liam's hair out of his eyes. He squints but allows the attention. Zayn in turn accepts the spliff and takes his own hit. He doesn't want to be sober if this is how the night is going to go. He can't stand the thought of having to make out with Cass while he watches out of the corner of his eye as Danielle makes out with Liam.
"Do you dance?" asks Danielle.
Liam both nods and shrugs.
"I need some boys to help me out at the studio. I'm teaching the girls lifts, and I don't have enough boys in my class. You think you could lend me some help?"
Liam nods and looks at Zayn.
"You can come too if you like, Zayn. I can teach you how to do the basic moves."
Zayn sighs and looks down at the mess of legs wedged together in the center of the tire. "Safaa will be pleased," he says finally.
"Safaa is your sister?"
"Yeah, and Waliyah."
"I remember Waliyah. You used her as an excuse to pick me up."
This makes Zayn slump a bit more. The weed has made him miserable, and now he's going to be stuck dancing with a bunch of eight-year-olds because his friend doesn't realize that boys do not do ballet in this neighborhood. All for a girl. A pang called jealousy hits him in the gut. He watches Danielle watch Liam and wonders if this is what happens to people destined to get out of the neighborhood some day.
Zayn feels a foot grab hold of his ankle. He thinks its Cass, but she's pulled her feet up out of the tire and has them wrapped around either side of Danielle's waist. It's Liam, then. Liam is smiling at him sleepily from across the swing while he listens to Danielle talking. This is destined to be a theme in their relationship, and Zayn isn't sure whether he should feel grateful for any of Liam's attention or betrayed that he has to share it with Danielle.
***
You were a slow burn on an autumn night. Honeyed milk in the moonlight.
I'm shit at poetry, but you have to know how you looked to us. Even though Danielle said she could barely stand you, she kept glancing at you every few beats to see if you were looking her way. But you weren't. You just kept looking at me. So that's when I knew I wasn't wrong about you. You wanted to kiss me -- maybe more, maybe much more. You wanted to dance with me that night and then kiss me, maybe when we got home or maybe not.
We walked the girls home, and Danielle programmed her number into my phone. Cass didn't even bother. She thanked us for a good time and then stumbled inside on those heels of hers. Then it was just us.
You were giddy. I'm sure both of us were still stoned, but only enough to make us delight in whatever spark crackled between us that night. Everyone was asleep at your house when we got home. You casually held the door open for me as if I had already accepted the invitation inside, and I obliged because Nicola wasn't home.
But it was more than that, I think.
I obliged because we could sleep in. We could spend all day tomorrow poring over the mistakes of today. I obliged because I really did not want to leave you for that desolate house, knowing that all the while I sat in my room alone you were only a wall away. We got into your room, and though I'd been there a few times before, I made the bold move to lay down on your bed.
I wasn't being presumptuous. I was stoned and happy and warm. My head hit your Qur'an and knocked a few notes out of it, and I felt the weight of a fourteen hundred years of Islamic history searing against my temple. I was embarrassed because I felt like I had offended you. You just smiled and then kissed your Book. Then, you flopped into bed beside me, opened the book, and started reading.
"Al-Fatihah," you said. We were touching, but only barely. I wanted to watch your mouth as you spoke, so I turned on my belly and watched. You seemed unabashed as you spoke Urdu. I'd heard you chant those sacred words so many times through the walls, and yet I had never quite considered that this is what you looked like while you read your Book.
Quiet. Calm. Steadfast in your faith, while your free hand drifted just enough that it touched the fabric of my shirt. I waited for you to take a breath, to pause long enough that it would not disrupt the rhythm of your words, before taking your Book gently away. I was sober then, and all I wanted was to bring your lips to life in a substantially different way.
You tensed up when I touched my thumb to your lip. I didn't dare go any further in case I had already overstepped my bounds. You grabbed your Book away and stood. I thought perhaps I had hurt your feelings. I watched as you kissed the book again and placed it on a shelf high up on the wall. When you came back, you sunk into bed again beside me and scooted close. Then your hand cupped my elbow and pulled me forward. I had to shuffle a bit until our heads were almost touching.
You kissed me first. I hadn't been kissed in ages, and I must have made a noise. You fell back against the pillow and looked at me for long enough that I blushed. Your cocksure smile told me you knew that you were my first kiss in a while, but something in your eyes let me know that you weren't hopeful enough to believe that I was your first ever. So I kissed you second. I kissed you like I had kissed only one other boy in my life. I touched your tongue with mine and felt a thrill excite the hairs on the back of my neck. My stomach dropped, and I deepened the kiss as I grew greedy. Your hand cupped my elbow a little tighter. My own hands were stuck beneath me, so I touched you with my lips -- away from your mouth, across the stubble growing on your jaw, then down to the sweet spot right below your ear where I could feel your pulse against my lips. This was the best way I could think to end our first kiss. A single kiss against your throat, a plea and a promise. The ball was in your field.
When I pulled away, you sighed. You looked sidelong at the bookshelf where your Qur'an lay, and I wondered if this would be the theme that defined our relationship -- a boy too tortured to choose either lover or religion. Believe me, the stories I made up in my head for you were epic. You were cast to sea and gobbled up by a giant whale. That's a metaphor or a simile, can't remember which. The point is I knew you'd always have to choose, but I was selfish.
I wanted you to choose me.
***
Seasons come and go until winter yields to early spring.
Liam and Zayn have lost count of stolen kisses and sloppy handjobs in the back of Nicola's car. With each passing day, they fall deeper into whatever strange relationship led them to the here and now. Liam is still not talking, and Zayn finds himself depressed that his father has been gone for too long now. It's not a vacation anymore, and the flimsy excuse that he's taking care of his sick mother makes Zayn even angrier. His father's family needs him, but Zayn and the girls need him too.
Nights like this are strange. Zayn says even less than Liam on these nights. His entire body becomes an expressionless sonnet of sorrow and grief. Liam curls close and nuzzles his neck, trying to stir something in him. Zayn swats his nose like he's some sort of puppy, and Liam only curls closer.
They have a new friend who tags along. Obviously not on nights like this, but on other nights.
He's a bloke called Niall.
Irish and optimistic, Niall got swept up in the mix after a strategy gone terribly wrong. Little Niall had thought the only way to remain untouched and unharmed in neighborhood like Bradford was to pick on the biggest, meanest boy in school. Liam found Niall crouched in one of the lavatory stalls, cradling a sprained wrist and trying to keep blood from dripping all over his uniform. Liam wrapped a bit of his boxing tape around Niall's wrist and held soggy Kleenex in his nose until the bleeding had stopped.
Zayn had learned this all from Niall, who had followed Liam around school until they met Zayn at the flagpole near the car park.
"He doesn't talk," said Niall with a frown. The nurse had slung his arm and told him to stop being a daft mick if he wanted to survive this place. Niall seemed to think he'd been discriminated against.
"Yeah, when you're half-Muslim and half-Anglo in a neighborhood that has both skinheads and Muslims, you tell me you're being discriminated against."
Niall blushed and apologized for his ignorance and offered to buy them both a pint if they were willing. Liam shrugged and looked over Niall's shoulder at the boy Niall had punched. It was a strange phenomenon at school. Either they wouldn't hit him because everyone called him crippled or because he always carried around a gym bag filled with boxing gloves, but no one fucked about with Liam.
After a few pints, Liam gave permission to Zayn to explain why he never spoke, and Niall only nodded as if he were genuinely interested. They found out he only punched Trevor Murphy because he didn't want people to pick on him for being the new kid. He explained that he was always the new kid and that the strategy had worked in every other town he'd visited. Zayn wanted to ask him where he'd been, but it seemed like an invasion of privacy somehow. It was a loaded question, and Niall might tell them in time.
That was back before Christmas holiday.
In some ways, Zayn prefers to have a second friend hanging about. It makes him feel less conspicuous. It also makes his relationship with Liam more clandestine. He has to hide it better than before, and it makes them more careful. They've found a spot by a lake, thirty minutes out of Bradford, where they drive every Wednesday and Sunday when Nicola lets them have the car.
"Do you ever wish we could be something more?" asks Zayn.
Liam looks up at him and traces the soft flesh beneath his jaw bone. He nods and shrugs at once. As if to say, Sure, but there's pros and cons to it. The world is cruel to boys like us, and anyway, what we have is special. There's really no need to expose the soft parts of our hearts to the world only to have people drive a knife through them. That's what Zayn imagines him saying, anyway.
Zayn curls around Liam, and in the dark, they begin to resemble the Yin and Yang.
***
Zayn only catches brief glimpses of Nicola's new boyfriend. She seems happy enough, and Liam doesn't seem all that bothered by the masculine influence now living beneath his roof. If anything, it leaves Liam more time to himself. Craig is quiet enough and doesn't call Liam terrible names. Zayn has yet to see the boy, but there's a different laugh through the walls some nights and then the muffled sounds of other stuff when Zayn is trying to sleep.
Niall is a new fixture in his life too, and sometimes it's a blessing. Other times, it's a curse. The kid has an infectious sense of optimism. He bleeds the stuff. Still, he tempers out the moodiness that Zayn brings to the picture. Niall also plays football, so he and Liam run around together in the cold and the wet while Zayn writes in his book.
Zayn has learned to enjoy these little scrimmages in the yard. He doesn't care much for the sport, but Liam tends to laugh more these days. Zayn starts to wonder if Niall won't be the cure to his boy's affliction. Zayn was jealous about it at first, but now he just revels in the possibility of Liam whispering his name.
"Yo, Malik," says Niall.
"Yeah?"
"We're talking about doing Nandos and then hitting the cinema. You in?"
"I can't. Dad's late on the monthly payments so money's tight," says Zayn.
"Your parents are divorced?"
"No, no. My dad is taking care of his brother out in Bristol."
"What's he got?" asks Niall as he sits down beside Zayn on the bench. Liam comes over too and starts putting his shirt and jumper back on.
"Some funny disorder that makes him twitchy. I'm not sure what it is. I haven't seen my uncle in years."
"Right. Well, Liam, you in? No? Well, lads, we'll just have to call it a night then."
"You can go get your precious Nandos then come over to my flat."
Niall looks a bit squirrelly at the suggestion. He has a hard time going anywhere in the neighborhood without his great valiant protector.
"Maybe you ought to spend time teaching him how to fight," says Zayn quietly. "Instead of all this football. Danielle has all that extra space at night in the dance studio."
"I'm a pacifist, boys," says Niall.
"A pacifist who hits people."
"I only hit people to prevent violence against my person."
Zayn shakes his head. Sometimes Niall is a difficult pill to swallow. Liam just shrugs.
"I can't pay you or anything," says Niall.
Liam shrugs again and picks up his bag.
"Liam's sister's ex-boyfriend used to teach us a bit about how to defend ourselves. He was a bigot and an arse, but at least he knew how to throw a punch. Liam knew a fair bit about that before he came here, but Martin helped a little."
"You mean it?" Niall asks Liam.
Liam nods.
"Let's go get changed then. I suppose I ought to call Danielle too and see if it's okay if we use the studio for a bit."
Liam sighs and hands over his phone.
"So, what, you have to call his girlfriend for him?" asks Niall.
"Danielle isn't really his girlfriend. It's complicated."
"How complicated can it be?" asks Niall.
Zayn and Liam share a look. If only Niall knew.
***