fic: some nights i'm scared you'll forget me again (2/3)
some nights i'm scared you'll forget me again (2/3)
Of course it’s bloody raining. It’s rained all week, and Zayn’s left his umbrella in Harry’s car, which is not waiting for him in the car park like it ought to be. Zayn leans further back against the school doors that had locked behind him when they’d closed, trying to hide from the rain that’s blowing straight at him when the wind gusts.
He’s texted Harry seven times now, with an increasing amount of frowning faces in each one, and tried calling three times, but his phone must be off or something, because he hasn’t answered.
He checks his phone again just to be sure, and when there are no messages waiting for him, he texts the only other person he can think of.
u seen harry? Zayn asks. Niall responds almost immediately.
nah, y? prbly wit louis i reckon tho
he was meant to pick me up at school is all, Zayn replies. s’fine tho i can walk
don’t b stupid, its pourin. ill com get u, Niall responds.
Zayn recoils a bit from the phone. He hadn’t meant to seem like he was begging for a ride, and he hardly knows Niall well enough to expect him to drop everything and come fetch him. He’s about to decline when there’s a low rumble of thunder, and the rain starts falling harder.
u dont need to if ur busy, its fine
dont bother im already on the way be there in 5
Alright, then. Zayn hadn’t expected this turn of events, but he supposes it’s not the worst possible outcome.
He huddles closer to the door, and waits.
-
“Thanks, mate, I owe you,” Zayn says emphatically when Niall pulls up less than ten minutes later.
“S’not a problem. Where to?”
“Right next door to Harry’s,” Zayn says, pointing generally in the direction of their houses.
“What’re you doing at school so late, anyway?” Niall asks as Zayn climbs into his car, shaking out his hair as best he can. “Christ, it’s almost half six. You do know we’re meant to leave at three, yeah?”
“Working on my portfolio,” Zayn says, shrugging a bit and buckling his seatbelt. “It’s for drawing, I’ve got a free study this term to work on it. But I’ve slacked off a bit, so I figured I’d catch up.”
“You draw?” Niall asks, sounding somewhat impressed. He taps his long fingers on the steering wheel to a beat that Zayn can’t quite follow.
“Sort of. I mean, I’m not great or anything, but, like. I guess I’m decent.”
“Wish I could draw,” Niall says regretfully. “Always been crap at it, though,” he laughs.
Zayn feels a bit uncomfortable talking about it, so he remembers something Niall had said at lunch the other day and asks “You play guitar, yeah?”
Niall bobbles his head back and forth. “Guess so. Not, like, officially, m’not in a band or anything, but I mess around with it.”
“Ah,” says Zayn, not sure where to go from there. His phone buzzes in his pocket then, and he grabs it out, thankful for the distraction.
sorry sorry sorry aghhhhhh i fell asleep and my phone was off!!!!! i can be there in like ten minutes ahhhh sorry SORRY SORRY
Zayn pulls an annoyed face but smiles anyway. Harry’s ill-timed naps are just a fact of life, and he’s gotten used to them by now.
dont worry niall came n got me. guess hes just a better mate than u
ha ha ha yes very good, harry replies. i’ll bring u breakfast tomorrow 2 apologize.
bring the good biscuits and ill consider forgiving u
done! xxxxxxxxx
Zayn laughs a bit to himself. “Harry?” Niall asks.
“Yeah. The prat fell asleep again, is all,” Zayn explains.
Niall laughs. “Does he do that a lot?”
“Mate, you have no idea,” Zayn says, settling back into his seat. Niall just smiles, and the rain picks up as they drive.
-
“It’s hopeless,” Harry moans. It’s Saturday night and he’s standing in front of his open closet, which looks like it’s suffered a series of small explosions. “I have literally nothing to wear. Not a single thing. How does this even happen? I must have had clothes at some point.” As he says this, he side-steps a pile of plaid shirts and jumpers, causing him to trip over a boot. He grabs the edge of his wardrobe to steady himself.
“Go naked, then,” Zayn says from where he’s sprawled on Harry’s bed, shrugging and feeling around the mass of Harry’s blankets to find where his mobile’s gone off to. However, when Harry looks like he might actually be considering it, he adds “Er, hang on, never mind. Don’t do that.”
“Fine, but I give up. You pick. Dress me, please.”
Zayn rolls his eyes but abandons his search and goes to dig through one of the mountainous piles, rummaging around until he finds a vest that he knows Harry doesn’t particularly care for and a well worn gray jumper. “Put it on and shut up,” he says, turning back to the bed to search for his mobile. Honestly, he’s not sure why Harry cares. It’s going to be another pointless party full of pointless people, and whether Harry wears one black t-shirt instead of another won’t have much of an effect on that.
Harry wrinkles his nose at the shirts Zayn has picked, and goes back to digging through a pile with one hand and texting someone with his other.
“Louis says they’ll meet us there in an hour,” he reports. “He’s got Liam and Niall with him.”
“Niall’s coming?” Zayn asks.
“Yeah,” Harry answers, stopping what he’s doing and squinting at Zayn suspiciously. “Why’re you interested in Niall specifically?”
“I’m not.” Zayn picks at a fray on the knee of his jeans. “Just means that I’ll have someone tolerable to talk to when you abandon me to make swotty faces at Louis all night.”
“Liam’s tolerable too, though, and you didn’t mention him by name.” Harry looks much too pleased with himself.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Haz, I didn’t mean anything by it. Pick a bloody shirt and put it on or we’ll be late.”
“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, still smirking like he’s made some sort of minor victory. He pulls one of his thousands of black t-shirts out from the bottom of the pile of clothes and pulls it over his head, and all of a sudden he looks effortlessly cool and fit. It’s rather unfair, in Zayn’s opinion, who puts more than his fair share of effort into looking cool and fit on a daily basis.
“You gonna sort out your hair?” Harry asks as he crouches down to pull on a shoe.
“S’wrong with my hair?” Zayn asks worriedly, shoving past Harry to look at the mirror above his wardrobe and smooth at the sides. Maybe his quiff’s a bit flatter on the left side, but only a bit -- he can’t see what Harry’s talking about.
On the floor, Harry topples over dissolves into a fit of cackling. “You’re really the worst,” he heaves out between hysterics.
Zayn just steps around Harry, snatching his jacket from the bed. “I’m leaving now, and I’m taking your keys, so if you want a ride in your own car you’d better hurry,” he calls as he heads down the hallway.
He hears Harry thumping along behind him, swearing occasionally when he runs into a wall while trying to walk and shove on his other shoe at the same time, but Zayn doesn’t stop until he’s out front next to Harry’s car.
Harry’s a prat, anyway. Zayn’s hair looks fine.
-
By the time they figure out where Nick’s house is -- “No, I swear it’s on the right,” Harry had insisted, which had gotten them properly lost until Harry had remembered that no, actually, he was thinking of someone else’s house entirely -- it’s rather late. Several people have spilled out onto the overly large front yard, and the low boom of a bassline in thumping out from the open windows. Everything smells a bit like piss and lager already, which doesn’t bode well, in Zayn’s opinion.
Louis is on top of a low table in the living room when they finally shove through the front door, clutching a bottle in each hand and dancing as a mass of people laugh and cheer him on. His hair is even madder than usual, and Harry’s eyes light up at the sight of him.
He turns to look at Zayn like he’s asking permission or something.
“Whatever, go on and talk to him,” Zayn says, gesturing. “M’gonna find a drink and have a smoke, or something.” He’s hasn’t even been in the house for a full minute yet and he’s already losing patience with the whole affair.
“I’ll come find you in a mo,” Harry says over his shoulder, already starting to walk towards Louis. Someone in the crowd around Louis -- Zayn can’t be bothered to try and remember if he knows the girl’s name or not -- greets Harry with a smile and a hug, although Zayn can’t hear what she’s saying to him over the music. When Louis spots Harry, he throws his arms up and then hops off the table, shoving aside several people, including the girl, to sling an arm around Harry’s shoulder and force one of his bottles into Harry’s hand.
Zayn rolls his eyes, and elbows his way down the hall and through the kitchen. He finds a beer that no one seems to be drinking and then searches for the back door.
Out in the garden several people have jumped into the pool, fully clothed. Zayn sighs heavily as he flicks a cigarette out from his pack. He has absolutely no interest in what’s going on around him -- everyone’s clearly already drunker than even Zayn had expected, and it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on.
He brushes several empty cans off a chair and settles in. He’s gone through three more foraged beers and twice as many cigarettes when the door bangs open and Niall stumbles out, clutching several plastic cups in one of his hands.
“Zayn, hey,” he says, spotting him. He walks over to where Zayn’s sitting and leans against the deck table. “Christ, it’s hot in there.” His cheeks are bright red and his hair is pushed off his forehead, all sweaty and disheveled.
“Too many people inside, that’s the problem,” Zayn says, only sort of kidding.
“S’pose so. D’you do anything besides smoke in gardens, then?” Niall asks, laughing a bit. Zayn’s first instinct is to scowl, but there’s something about Niall that makes it harder than it usually is to be surly.
“Occasionally behind gymnasiums at school as well,” he says. “Roof of my house, sometimes.”
“Well-rounded,” Niall nods. “D’you want a drink? I took these off of a girl who’d just been sick down her front, figured she’d had enough for a bit.” He gestures at the cups in his hand.
Zayn smiles a bit, sort of halfway. “Nice of you to look out for her,” he says, reaching over to take one of the plastic cups from Niall.
“Mostly I was thirsty, to be honest.”
“Still counts as a good deed, I think, though.”
“Well here’s to me, then. A right hero,” Niall says, tipping the rim of his cup towards Zayn. Whatever’s inside is bright pink and fizzy and smells like petrol.
“Er, she was only sick on herself, right? Not actually into this?” he asks, leveling a stare at the contents of the cup. “‘Cos it smells like she might’ve been.”
“Nah, I witnessed the whole thing. We’re safe.”
“Cheers, then,” Zayn says, and tosses back half the cup in one go. It tastes worse than he had expected it to, if that’s possible.
“Good Lord,” Niall sputters, grimacing as he drinks his. “No wonder she was ill.”
“At least we’ll know it’ll get the job done,” Zayn says. “Might even get me pissed enough to stand going back in there and finding Harry.” He nods towards the back door, which is starting to fog up from the mass of bodies inside.
Not having fun?” Niall asks.
“This is more Harry’s scene than mine.”
Niall nods. “I know what you mean. S’alright, but Louis likes this sort of thing more than I do too.”
Zayn hums, dragging on his cigarette before putting it out in the last pink dregs of his cup. “Well. S’pose I ought to go do that. Thanks for the drink.”
“Maybe see you around later tonight, yeah?” Niall asks.
“Yeah, if I find Harry we’ll come and have a drink.”
“Preferably not neon pink, though,” Niall says, laughing, and Zayn laughs too despite himself, is still laughing even as he shoulders into the house.
-
He finds Harry.
Specifically, he finds Harry in the den snogging Louis, both of their shirts askew and Louis’ hand on the button of Harry’s trousers. There are several other couples in the den, either passed out on top of each other or equally distracted, and Zayn is momentarily frozen. He knows he ought to just back out and pretend it never happened, but suddenly he’s, angry, practically seeing red, and he knows it’s too late for him to leave without making a scene.
“What the fuck,” he finally gets out, and at that Harry and Louis shoot apart.
“Shit,” he thinks he hear Louis murmur, pulling at his clothes like he’s trying to set them back in order.
“Oh, er. Zayn, hi,” Harry says, looking like he’s just gotten walked in on having a wank by his mum and the Prime Minister at the same time.
“Jesus, I leave you for less than an hour,” Zayn says, and he doesn’t realize he’s yelling until several people turn to stare at him, including a clump of people out in the hall.
“It’s not--”
“Please, please do not finish that with what it looks like,” Zayn growls, closing his eyes for a long second.
“I’ll just--” Louis starts, slipping around Zayn and disappearing into the party.
“Zayn, c’mon,” Harry starts, trying to straighten his shirt with one hand so that it covers the love bite on his collarbone.
“No, you c’mon. Outside,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him towards the front door.
“What the fuck are you doing with him?” he explodes as soon as the door is shut behind them. There are several younger girls gathered around, but they scatter as soon as Zayn starts in.
Harry frowns. “Well, like. Kind of obvious, I think?”
“But he's a total prat, Haz, c'mon. What are you thinking?”
Harry folds his arms and frowns at that. He looks cross. Actually, he looks more cross than Zayn’s ever seen him.
“Have you actually got a reason to hate him, or are you just bound and determined to get between us just for the fun of it?” Harry asks, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“No, I mean. It’s just -- we’ve talked about this.” Zayn wants to throw something. This is going terribly, and Harry seems actually angry, and if he’d just listen to Zayn -- it makes his head spin, which might largely be due to the alcohol, but the frustration coursing through Zayn certainly isn’t helping anything. “He’s not good enough for you, I’ve told you.”
“Yeah, you’ve said it, but, like, you don’t actually have a reason. You're just being difficult, and if you’d just give him a chance you’d see you’re wrong,” Harry says.
“He’s a slag, Haz, and he’s obviously using you, and if you can’t see that, then -- then.” He stops himself from saying what he wants to, but Harry’s jaw is set and Zayn can see his eyes going hard.
“What, Zayn? If I can’t see that then what?”
“Then you’re just as stupid as he is,” Zayn says, a bit louder than he means to. He crosses his arms across his chest defensively. Harry’s face immediately goes pale, and Zayn knows that he’s done it now, that Harry is properly angry with him for the first time.
“Fuck off, Zayn,” Harry says, shoving past him. “Just -- just fuck off.”
Zayn thinks he should stop him, should apologize, but he can’t move. Suddenly Louis is pushing open the front door, looking hugely uncomfortable. “Harry?” he asks, catching sight of Harry where he’s beginning to stalk off across the lawn. “Er, everything alright?”
“Fine,” Harry spits out. “I was just leaving, actually, fancy coming with?”
“Yeah, okay,” says Louis, looking back and forth between Zayn and Harry another time with an expression that almost looks like guilt on his face. “D’you -- are you?” he asks Zayn.
“No, he’s staying,” Harry says forcefully, and holds out his hand for Louis. Louis takes it cautiously, but lets himself be led down the pathway to where Harry’s car is parked on the street. As they go, Zayn hears him ask “Alright, babe?” Harry’s shoulders droop, and Louis winds an arm around him. Harry leans his head against Louis’, and then they go behind a row of cars, out of sight.
“Fuck,” Zayn says, kicking angrily at the shrub. A girl who’s just come around the side of the house looks at him with alarm on her face and immediately turns back the way she came.
For lack of anything better to do he smokes a cigarette -- he’s smoked too many tonight already, his throat is going to be properly sore tomorrow -- and waits to see if maybe Harry will come back, although he’s not surprised when he doesn’t. He grinds out his cigarette and yanks the door open, slamming it behind him. There’s still a mob of drunk people in the living room, spilling things and knocking things over -- Nick’s house is going to be absolutely destroyed. It gives Zayn a sick twist of pleasure, knowing that someone else is going to have a rotten day tomorrow as well.
He desperately wants to leave, only Harry was his ride, and it’s a long walk back to his, so he just pushes through the crowd, waiting to figure out what he should do now.
Eventually he finds Niall in the kitchen, making a long assembly line of sandwiches for the group of drunk people gathered there.
“Zayn,” he says when he notices him. He brushes his hands off on his trousers and shoves the bread aside, coming over to where Zayn is. “Alright, mate? Dani said she heard you having a row with Harry, and...” He waves his hand vaguely and doesn’t finish the sentence.
“S’fine. Just, do you think I could have a ride when you’re ready to go? Harry left, is all.”
“Yeah, alright. We can go now, if you like. Do I need to find Louis, or...?” he trails off.
Zayn shakes his head once, frowning. “Went with Harry.”
“Ah,” says Niall, but doesn’t push it. They press through the house -- Zayn possibly a bit more forceful than he needs to be -- and he leans against Niall’s car, smoking a last cigarette while Niall texts someone.
“Liam’s gotten a ride already so we don’t need to wait for him,” Niall says. “You can smoke in my car if you like, I don’t mind.”
“Nah, s’fine,” Zayn says, flicking the rest of his cigarette into the gutter and climbing into the passenger seat. He hadn’t even seen Liam at the party, but he supposes he did spend most of it either sulking outside or picking fights, so it’s not unreasonable that he might’ve missed him.
Niall doesn’t say anything, just fiddles with the radio and cracks his window when the car starts to fog up. He doesn’t say anything until they pull up in front of Zayn’s house. Harry’s car is already there, and Zayn pointedly does not look at Harry’s window. If he’s up there with Louis, he’d really rather not know.
“See you Monday, then?” Niall asks calmly, smiling at Zayn like they’ve been having a nice conversation instead of sitting in silence.
“Er, yeah. Thanks for the ride. Again.”
“Anytime,” Niall smiles. He waves once as he drives off, and Zayn stays on his front steps looking after his car as it disappears for a moment before shaking his head and going inside.
-
Harry doesn’t show up at Zayn’s house or even text him all weekend, which is unusual enough in itself. Zayn wasn’t sure if he’d expected Harry to turn up and apologize or not -- they’ve never really fought, so he’s not sure how this is supposed to go. Still, when he doesn’t, it hurts a bit, makes him think of things he doesn’t really care to think about.
On Monday Zayn wakes up with a splitting migraine, so he stays home from school, which is more than fine with Zayn. He’s not really eager to see Harry. Or Louis. Or really anyone. His mum leaves pills and water on his bedside table and dims his lights before she leaves for work, and he sleeps for most of the day.
-
But he turns up to school on Tuesday like normal -- he’d left a bit early to walk, since Harry usually gave him a ride, and he hadn’t wanted to sit around waiting when it wasn’t likely to happen.
In Biology he keeps his head down and tries desperately not to accidentally make eye contact with Louis. He concentrates on the lecture instead, and as a result ends up with his most detailed notes of the year, so at least maybe there’s a small benefit to this mess he’s in.
He waits a full five minutes after they’re dismissed to look up, and when he finally does, Louis has gone and the room is empty.
-
Instead of going to the cafeteria at lunch, Zayn heads for the library. He’s not in the mood to sit by himself, and sitting with Harry and Louis feels out of the question, and he can’t think of anywhere else to go. It’s locked, though, because there’s a study hall going on inside, so he sighs and sits down at a bench next to the door, unwrapping his sandwich and setting it next to him even though he has no desire to eat it. He pulls out his sketchbook instead and sits it on his lap, not sure what he means to do but wanting to look like he’s doing something, if only to discourage anyone from bothering him.
After several minutes he hears someone approaching. He focuses on his sketchbook, drawing in several sharp lines and trying to look occupied. However, the person stops next to him, and when he looks up, Niall’s there, smiling.
“There you are,” Niall says, like he’s been looking for him.
“Yeah,” he says, “Here I am.”
“You weren’t at lunch,” Niall says, as if maybe Zayn hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, well. S’pose you know that Harry and I fought about Louis, then?”
“Louis mentioned it, yeah.” He doesn’t sound angry, though, just... neutral, conversational. Like they’re talking about the weather.
“Y’gonna lecture me for being a twat, then?” He knows he sounds bratty, but he doesn’t particularly care right now. He’s still in a foul mood, and he figures either Harry or Louis has sent Niall to tell him what a prat he’s been.
“Nah,” Niall drawls easily, sitting down next to Zayn on the bench.
Zayn’s a bit confused. “But aren’t you and Louis, like, best mates? Shouldn’t you be defending his honor to me or something?”
Louis hardly needs defending,” Niall says. He curls one leg underneath him and takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair before putting it back on. Oh, Zayn thinks. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sight. “Anyway, Harry’s your mate too. Hardly a crime to be protective of him.”
“I’m not protective,” Zayn protests. “I just don’t -- I don’t think Louis’ right for him.”
“Right, cos you don’t want Harry to get hurt.”
“No, because Louis’ a twat.” Zayn sort of regrets saying it as soon as he does -- it’s not like it’s not true, but even though he’s upset with Louis it’s still probably not great form to insult someone’s mate, especially when Niall’s only been perfectly nice to Zayn. “Erm. I mean. Sorry.”
But Niall just laughs, all loud and his smile taking over his face. “He’s a bit of a twat sometimes, you’re right. But he’s a good sort of twat.”
“I guess,” Zayn mumbles, because he can’t think of anything else to say that won’t make him sound like the arsehole he very probably is.
“Mind if I stay?” Niall asks, like he’s not already sat down and pulled out a frankly impressive array of lunch foods, arranging them on his lap.
“Um. No?” He can’t work out why Niall would want to sit outside the library with him, but also can’t think of a way to ask without being rude.
“Brilliant,” Niall says, peeling a banana. They sit there like that in a companionable silence, Niall eating steadily and Zayn half-heartedly scribbling in his sketchbook.
“What’re you drawing, then?” Niall asks eventually.
“Dunno yet,” Zayn says. “Guess it’s abstract, or something.”
“Is it for your portfolio?”
“Probably not, no. Just passing time, mostly.”
Niall nods like that makes perfect sense. “D’you ever show anyone? Your drawings?” he asks.
“You can look, if you want,” Zayn says, digging out his portfolio from his bag. “Mostly it’s just technique stuff, but.”
Niall flips through the pages, nodding occasionally, and Zayn stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling suddenly exposed. “These’re really good,” Niall says after a bit.
Zayn feels himself blush, embarrassingly. “Er, thanks.” The bell rings, making him jump, and Niall hands his drawings back.
“S’true” Niall says, standing and shouldering his bag. “See you around, then.”
“See you,” Zayn says, a bit flummoxed, staring after Niall and trying to sort out what’s just happened. He can’t, though, and makes himself late for history trying.
-
As if the day is purposefully trying to end up as strange as possible, Liam is leaning against his locker after his last class, with an alarmingly purposeful glint in his eye.
“Zayn, hi,” Liam says when he sees Zayn heading towards him.
“Liam,” he nods. “Alright?”
“Yeah, m’good,” Liam says, side-stepping out of the way so that Zayn can get into his locker and dig out his bag and his sunglasses. “Are you busy?”
“Um, no? I was just going home.” He can’t fathom why Liam wants to know, but suspects he’s about to find out.
“I could give you a ride, if you want?” Liam offers. “I sort of wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright.”
Zayn can’t think of a reasonable excuse that might get him out of it. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, and follows Liam out to the parking lot and into his beat up, bright yellow car. “Just next door to Harry’s,” he directs, and then sits silently, waiting for Liam to tell him what he wanted to talk about.
“Are you, erm.” Liam starts, fiddling awkwardly with the knobs on the radio. “Like, in love? With Harry?”
“What?” Zayn says. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been that. “No, ‘course not.”
“No, sorry,” Liam apologizes. “I just thought maybe, cos you seemed so against him and Louis, and you two fought about him, and. I didn’t mean -- I don’t even know if you’re, like.” He doesn’t continue, just waves his hand vaguely.
“No, I mean, it’s not that,” Zayn says, realizing what he means. “Harry’s like my brother, yeah? That’s all.”
Liam relaxes a fraction, like he’d been worried that his assumption that Zayn was into blokes might have offended him, and Zayn wants to shake his head and start over, or possibly just erase this conversation from history altogether. But Liam looks intent on plowing ahead, squaring his shoulders before going on.
“It’s just that,” he starts. “Louis’ sort of like my brother too, yeah?”
Zayn squints a bit. “So you know what he’s like, then.” He’s still trying rather hard not to insult Louis directly to his friends, but even Liam must be able to understand why he’s not overly fond of the notion of Louis and Harry getting together.
“I do know what he’s like,” Liam says slowly. “I know that loads of people think he’s loud and brash and a pain in the arse and -- and a bit of a slag.” He stops to swallow hard and Zayn notices that his knuckles are white gripping the steering wheel, like that perception of Louis bothers him more than he’s trying to let on. “But I also know that he’s loyal, and kind, and -- and brave, and that he doesn’t deserve the reputation he has, not by half.”
“Hm,” says Zayn. He doesn’t recall ever having heard Liam say so many words in a row before, and certainly not with such conviction in his voice. It almost makes him consider the idea that he’d been unfair to Louis. Almost. Possibly.
“I know what people think about me, too,” Liam continues. “That I’m a bore, and not very cool, and all that.” Zayn thinks he ought to protest, vaguely, but he stays silent. “M’not exactly popular, but the first day Louis started here he sat with me at lunch at started talking to me like we’d been mates for years even though we’d never met before, and when I told him it’d probably be best if he wasn’t seen hanging around me, he said he couldn’t give a toss what anyone had to say, so.” Liam breathes in quickly, once, like all the words had taken some effort to get out. “And I know he says he doesn’t care what people think about him, but I do, and it’s crap that you’re being so awful to him. He really likes Harry, and he deserves a chance at it.”
“Look,” says Zayn, feeling a bit at loose ends. It’s strange to have someone talk to him about Louis like they know him better than Zayn does, even though Zayn realizes it’s probably true. “I know Louis a bit too, alright? And I know he probably means well, but he’ll get bored of Harry and move on to something new and interesting in less than a fortnight, and Harry’ll be shattered, and I just -- I can’t let him do that to Harry. I’m sorry if that, like, hurts your feelings or something, but that’s how it is.” He crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative, which is something that he’s usually quite good at, but apparently Liam isn’t swayed by his particular brand of posturing, because he just pulls a sad smile and shakes his head, like Zayn’s missing something important.
“Harry can make his own choices, y’know,” Liam says.
“‘Course I know that,” says Zayn, a bit defensively. “Only I’m not going to sit around and pretend to be happy while he gets his heart broken if I can help it.”
“I know,” says Liam, nodding as if he’d expected that exact response. “That’s not the sort of mate you are. But you can’t decide everything for him, and if he wants to give Louis a shot -- and obviously I’m biased, but I think he ought to -- then you should let him.”
They pull into the drive in front of Zayn’s house and Liam parks the car, turning to face him. “I like Harry too, y’know, and I wouldn’t be saying this if I thought Louis was out to hurt him. So maybe just think about giving them a break, yeah?”
Zayn considers this. “I’ll think about it. Maybe.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Liam responds. “And just -- for the record, Harry’s lucky to have you looking out for him, so.” He shrugs, and Zayn’s not sure what to say, so he says nothing.
“Anyway, that’s all,” Liam says, unlocking the doors. Zayn gathers his bag and climbs out of the car, stopping to lean down to peer through the open window.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says awkwardly, and Liam smiles.
“See you around, yeah?” Liam asks.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, waving once as Liam pulls away. He stands in the drive for several minutes after the car turns a corner and disappears out of sight, wondering when Liam Payne became so damn perceptive.
part 3
Of course it’s bloody raining. It’s rained all week, and Zayn’s left his umbrella in Harry’s car, which is not waiting for him in the car park like it ought to be. Zayn leans further back against the school doors that had locked behind him when they’d closed, trying to hide from the rain that’s blowing straight at him when the wind gusts.
He’s texted Harry seven times now, with an increasing amount of frowning faces in each one, and tried calling three times, but his phone must be off or something, because he hasn’t answered.
He checks his phone again just to be sure, and when there are no messages waiting for him, he texts the only other person he can think of.
u seen harry? Zayn asks. Niall responds almost immediately.
nah, y? prbly wit louis i reckon tho
he was meant to pick me up at school is all, Zayn replies. s’fine tho i can walk
don’t b stupid, its pourin. ill com get u, Niall responds.
Zayn recoils a bit from the phone. He hadn’t meant to seem like he was begging for a ride, and he hardly knows Niall well enough to expect him to drop everything and come fetch him. He’s about to decline when there’s a low rumble of thunder, and the rain starts falling harder.
u dont need to if ur busy, its fine
dont bother im already on the way be there in 5
Alright, then. Zayn hadn’t expected this turn of events, but he supposes it’s not the worst possible outcome.
He huddles closer to the door, and waits.
-
“Thanks, mate, I owe you,” Zayn says emphatically when Niall pulls up less than ten minutes later.
“S’not a problem. Where to?”
“Right next door to Harry’s,” Zayn says, pointing generally in the direction of their houses.
“What’re you doing at school so late, anyway?” Niall asks as Zayn climbs into his car, shaking out his hair as best he can. “Christ, it’s almost half six. You do know we’re meant to leave at three, yeah?”
“Working on my portfolio,” Zayn says, shrugging a bit and buckling his seatbelt. “It’s for drawing, I’ve got a free study this term to work on it. But I’ve slacked off a bit, so I figured I’d catch up.”
“You draw?” Niall asks, sounding somewhat impressed. He taps his long fingers on the steering wheel to a beat that Zayn can’t quite follow.
“Sort of. I mean, I’m not great or anything, but, like. I guess I’m decent.”
“Wish I could draw,” Niall says regretfully. “Always been crap at it, though,” he laughs.
Zayn feels a bit uncomfortable talking about it, so he remembers something Niall had said at lunch the other day and asks “You play guitar, yeah?”
Niall bobbles his head back and forth. “Guess so. Not, like, officially, m’not in a band or anything, but I mess around with it.”
“Ah,” says Zayn, not sure where to go from there. His phone buzzes in his pocket then, and he grabs it out, thankful for the distraction.
sorry sorry sorry aghhhhhh i fell asleep and my phone was off!!!!! i can be there in like ten minutes ahhhh sorry SORRY SORRY
Zayn pulls an annoyed face but smiles anyway. Harry’s ill-timed naps are just a fact of life, and he’s gotten used to them by now.
dont worry niall came n got me. guess hes just a better mate than u
ha ha ha yes very good, harry replies. i’ll bring u breakfast tomorrow 2 apologize.
bring the good biscuits and ill consider forgiving u
done! xxxxxxxxx
Zayn laughs a bit to himself. “Harry?” Niall asks.
“Yeah. The prat fell asleep again, is all,” Zayn explains.
Niall laughs. “Does he do that a lot?”
“Mate, you have no idea,” Zayn says, settling back into his seat. Niall just smiles, and the rain picks up as they drive.
-
“It’s hopeless,” Harry moans. It’s Saturday night and he’s standing in front of his open closet, which looks like it’s suffered a series of small explosions. “I have literally nothing to wear. Not a single thing. How does this even happen? I must have had clothes at some point.” As he says this, he side-steps a pile of plaid shirts and jumpers, causing him to trip over a boot. He grabs the edge of his wardrobe to steady himself.
“Go naked, then,” Zayn says from where he’s sprawled on Harry’s bed, shrugging and feeling around the mass of Harry’s blankets to find where his mobile’s gone off to. However, when Harry looks like he might actually be considering it, he adds “Er, hang on, never mind. Don’t do that.”
“Fine, but I give up. You pick. Dress me, please.”
Zayn rolls his eyes but abandons his search and goes to dig through one of the mountainous piles, rummaging around until he finds a vest that he knows Harry doesn’t particularly care for and a well worn gray jumper. “Put it on and shut up,” he says, turning back to the bed to search for his mobile. Honestly, he’s not sure why Harry cares. It’s going to be another pointless party full of pointless people, and whether Harry wears one black t-shirt instead of another won’t have much of an effect on that.
Harry wrinkles his nose at the shirts Zayn has picked, and goes back to digging through a pile with one hand and texting someone with his other.
“Louis says they’ll meet us there in an hour,” he reports. “He’s got Liam and Niall with him.”
“Niall’s coming?” Zayn asks.
“Yeah,” Harry answers, stopping what he’s doing and squinting at Zayn suspiciously. “Why’re you interested in Niall specifically?”
“I’m not.” Zayn picks at a fray on the knee of his jeans. “Just means that I’ll have someone tolerable to talk to when you abandon me to make swotty faces at Louis all night.”
“Liam’s tolerable too, though, and you didn’t mention him by name.” Harry looks much too pleased with himself.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Haz, I didn’t mean anything by it. Pick a bloody shirt and put it on or we’ll be late.”
“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, still smirking like he’s made some sort of minor victory. He pulls one of his thousands of black t-shirts out from the bottom of the pile of clothes and pulls it over his head, and all of a sudden he looks effortlessly cool and fit. It’s rather unfair, in Zayn’s opinion, who puts more than his fair share of effort into looking cool and fit on a daily basis.
“You gonna sort out your hair?” Harry asks as he crouches down to pull on a shoe.
“S’wrong with my hair?” Zayn asks worriedly, shoving past Harry to look at the mirror above his wardrobe and smooth at the sides. Maybe his quiff’s a bit flatter on the left side, but only a bit -- he can’t see what Harry’s talking about.
On the floor, Harry topples over dissolves into a fit of cackling. “You’re really the worst,” he heaves out between hysterics.
Zayn just steps around Harry, snatching his jacket from the bed. “I’m leaving now, and I’m taking your keys, so if you want a ride in your own car you’d better hurry,” he calls as he heads down the hallway.
He hears Harry thumping along behind him, swearing occasionally when he runs into a wall while trying to walk and shove on his other shoe at the same time, but Zayn doesn’t stop until he’s out front next to Harry’s car.
Harry’s a prat, anyway. Zayn’s hair looks fine.
-
By the time they figure out where Nick’s house is -- “No, I swear it’s on the right,” Harry had insisted, which had gotten them properly lost until Harry had remembered that no, actually, he was thinking of someone else’s house entirely -- it’s rather late. Several people have spilled out onto the overly large front yard, and the low boom of a bassline in thumping out from the open windows. Everything smells a bit like piss and lager already, which doesn’t bode well, in Zayn’s opinion.
Louis is on top of a low table in the living room when they finally shove through the front door, clutching a bottle in each hand and dancing as a mass of people laugh and cheer him on. His hair is even madder than usual, and Harry’s eyes light up at the sight of him.
He turns to look at Zayn like he’s asking permission or something.
“Whatever, go on and talk to him,” Zayn says, gesturing. “M’gonna find a drink and have a smoke, or something.” He’s hasn’t even been in the house for a full minute yet and he’s already losing patience with the whole affair.
“I’ll come find you in a mo,” Harry says over his shoulder, already starting to walk towards Louis. Someone in the crowd around Louis -- Zayn can’t be bothered to try and remember if he knows the girl’s name or not -- greets Harry with a smile and a hug, although Zayn can’t hear what she’s saying to him over the music. When Louis spots Harry, he throws his arms up and then hops off the table, shoving aside several people, including the girl, to sling an arm around Harry’s shoulder and force one of his bottles into Harry’s hand.
Zayn rolls his eyes, and elbows his way down the hall and through the kitchen. He finds a beer that no one seems to be drinking and then searches for the back door.
Out in the garden several people have jumped into the pool, fully clothed. Zayn sighs heavily as he flicks a cigarette out from his pack. He has absolutely no interest in what’s going on around him -- everyone’s clearly already drunker than even Zayn had expected, and it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on.
He brushes several empty cans off a chair and settles in. He’s gone through three more foraged beers and twice as many cigarettes when the door bangs open and Niall stumbles out, clutching several plastic cups in one of his hands.
“Zayn, hey,” he says, spotting him. He walks over to where Zayn’s sitting and leans against the deck table. “Christ, it’s hot in there.” His cheeks are bright red and his hair is pushed off his forehead, all sweaty and disheveled.
“Too many people inside, that’s the problem,” Zayn says, only sort of kidding.
“S’pose so. D’you do anything besides smoke in gardens, then?” Niall asks, laughing a bit. Zayn’s first instinct is to scowl, but there’s something about Niall that makes it harder than it usually is to be surly.
“Occasionally behind gymnasiums at school as well,” he says. “Roof of my house, sometimes.”
“Well-rounded,” Niall nods. “D’you want a drink? I took these off of a girl who’d just been sick down her front, figured she’d had enough for a bit.” He gestures at the cups in his hand.
Zayn smiles a bit, sort of halfway. “Nice of you to look out for her,” he says, reaching over to take one of the plastic cups from Niall.
“Mostly I was thirsty, to be honest.”
“Still counts as a good deed, I think, though.”
“Well here’s to me, then. A right hero,” Niall says, tipping the rim of his cup towards Zayn. Whatever’s inside is bright pink and fizzy and smells like petrol.
“Er, she was only sick on herself, right? Not actually into this?” he asks, leveling a stare at the contents of the cup. “‘Cos it smells like she might’ve been.”
“Nah, I witnessed the whole thing. We’re safe.”
“Cheers, then,” Zayn says, and tosses back half the cup in one go. It tastes worse than he had expected it to, if that’s possible.
“Good Lord,” Niall sputters, grimacing as he drinks his. “No wonder she was ill.”
“At least we’ll know it’ll get the job done,” Zayn says. “Might even get me pissed enough to stand going back in there and finding Harry.” He nods towards the back door, which is starting to fog up from the mass of bodies inside.
Not having fun?” Niall asks.
“This is more Harry’s scene than mine.”
Niall nods. “I know what you mean. S’alright, but Louis likes this sort of thing more than I do too.”
Zayn hums, dragging on his cigarette before putting it out in the last pink dregs of his cup. “Well. S’pose I ought to go do that. Thanks for the drink.”
“Maybe see you around later tonight, yeah?” Niall asks.
“Yeah, if I find Harry we’ll come and have a drink.”
“Preferably not neon pink, though,” Niall says, laughing, and Zayn laughs too despite himself, is still laughing even as he shoulders into the house.
-
He finds Harry.
Specifically, he finds Harry in the den snogging Louis, both of their shirts askew and Louis’ hand on the button of Harry’s trousers. There are several other couples in the den, either passed out on top of each other or equally distracted, and Zayn is momentarily frozen. He knows he ought to just back out and pretend it never happened, but suddenly he’s, angry, practically seeing red, and he knows it’s too late for him to leave without making a scene.
“What the fuck,” he finally gets out, and at that Harry and Louis shoot apart.
“Shit,” he thinks he hear Louis murmur, pulling at his clothes like he’s trying to set them back in order.
“Oh, er. Zayn, hi,” Harry says, looking like he’s just gotten walked in on having a wank by his mum and the Prime Minister at the same time.
“Jesus, I leave you for less than an hour,” Zayn says, and he doesn’t realize he’s yelling until several people turn to stare at him, including a clump of people out in the hall.
“It’s not--”
“Please, please do not finish that with what it looks like,” Zayn growls, closing his eyes for a long second.
“I’ll just--” Louis starts, slipping around Zayn and disappearing into the party.
“Zayn, c’mon,” Harry starts, trying to straighten his shirt with one hand so that it covers the love bite on his collarbone.
“No, you c’mon. Outside,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him towards the front door.
“What the fuck are you doing with him?” he explodes as soon as the door is shut behind them. There are several younger girls gathered around, but they scatter as soon as Zayn starts in.
Harry frowns. “Well, like. Kind of obvious, I think?”
“But he's a total prat, Haz, c'mon. What are you thinking?”
Harry folds his arms and frowns at that. He looks cross. Actually, he looks more cross than Zayn’s ever seen him.
“Have you actually got a reason to hate him, or are you just bound and determined to get between us just for the fun of it?” Harry asks, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“No, I mean. It’s just -- we’ve talked about this.” Zayn wants to throw something. This is going terribly, and Harry seems actually angry, and if he’d just listen to Zayn -- it makes his head spin, which might largely be due to the alcohol, but the frustration coursing through Zayn certainly isn’t helping anything. “He’s not good enough for you, I’ve told you.”
“Yeah, you’ve said it, but, like, you don’t actually have a reason. You're just being difficult, and if you’d just give him a chance you’d see you’re wrong,” Harry says.
“He’s a slag, Haz, and he’s obviously using you, and if you can’t see that, then -- then.” He stops himself from saying what he wants to, but Harry’s jaw is set and Zayn can see his eyes going hard.
“What, Zayn? If I can’t see that then what?”
“Then you’re just as stupid as he is,” Zayn says, a bit louder than he means to. He crosses his arms across his chest defensively. Harry’s face immediately goes pale, and Zayn knows that he’s done it now, that Harry is properly angry with him for the first time.
“Fuck off, Zayn,” Harry says, shoving past him. “Just -- just fuck off.”
Zayn thinks he should stop him, should apologize, but he can’t move. Suddenly Louis is pushing open the front door, looking hugely uncomfortable. “Harry?” he asks, catching sight of Harry where he’s beginning to stalk off across the lawn. “Er, everything alright?”
“Fine,” Harry spits out. “I was just leaving, actually, fancy coming with?”
“Yeah, okay,” says Louis, looking back and forth between Zayn and Harry another time with an expression that almost looks like guilt on his face. “D’you -- are you?” he asks Zayn.
“No, he’s staying,” Harry says forcefully, and holds out his hand for Louis. Louis takes it cautiously, but lets himself be led down the pathway to where Harry’s car is parked on the street. As they go, Zayn hears him ask “Alright, babe?” Harry’s shoulders droop, and Louis winds an arm around him. Harry leans his head against Louis’, and then they go behind a row of cars, out of sight.
“Fuck,” Zayn says, kicking angrily at the shrub. A girl who’s just come around the side of the house looks at him with alarm on her face and immediately turns back the way she came.
For lack of anything better to do he smokes a cigarette -- he’s smoked too many tonight already, his throat is going to be properly sore tomorrow -- and waits to see if maybe Harry will come back, although he’s not surprised when he doesn’t. He grinds out his cigarette and yanks the door open, slamming it behind him. There’s still a mob of drunk people in the living room, spilling things and knocking things over -- Nick’s house is going to be absolutely destroyed. It gives Zayn a sick twist of pleasure, knowing that someone else is going to have a rotten day tomorrow as well.
He desperately wants to leave, only Harry was his ride, and it’s a long walk back to his, so he just pushes through the crowd, waiting to figure out what he should do now.
Eventually he finds Niall in the kitchen, making a long assembly line of sandwiches for the group of drunk people gathered there.
“Zayn,” he says when he notices him. He brushes his hands off on his trousers and shoves the bread aside, coming over to where Zayn is. “Alright, mate? Dani said she heard you having a row with Harry, and...” He waves his hand vaguely and doesn’t finish the sentence.
“S’fine. Just, do you think I could have a ride when you’re ready to go? Harry left, is all.”
“Yeah, alright. We can go now, if you like. Do I need to find Louis, or...?” he trails off.
Zayn shakes his head once, frowning. “Went with Harry.”
“Ah,” says Niall, but doesn’t push it. They press through the house -- Zayn possibly a bit more forceful than he needs to be -- and he leans against Niall’s car, smoking a last cigarette while Niall texts someone.
“Liam’s gotten a ride already so we don’t need to wait for him,” Niall says. “You can smoke in my car if you like, I don’t mind.”
“Nah, s’fine,” Zayn says, flicking the rest of his cigarette into the gutter and climbing into the passenger seat. He hadn’t even seen Liam at the party, but he supposes he did spend most of it either sulking outside or picking fights, so it’s not unreasonable that he might’ve missed him.
Niall doesn’t say anything, just fiddles with the radio and cracks his window when the car starts to fog up. He doesn’t say anything until they pull up in front of Zayn’s house. Harry’s car is already there, and Zayn pointedly does not look at Harry’s window. If he’s up there with Louis, he’d really rather not know.
“See you Monday, then?” Niall asks calmly, smiling at Zayn like they’ve been having a nice conversation instead of sitting in silence.
“Er, yeah. Thanks for the ride. Again.”
“Anytime,” Niall smiles. He waves once as he drives off, and Zayn stays on his front steps looking after his car as it disappears for a moment before shaking his head and going inside.
-
Harry doesn’t show up at Zayn’s house or even text him all weekend, which is unusual enough in itself. Zayn wasn’t sure if he’d expected Harry to turn up and apologize or not -- they’ve never really fought, so he’s not sure how this is supposed to go. Still, when he doesn’t, it hurts a bit, makes him think of things he doesn’t really care to think about.
On Monday Zayn wakes up with a splitting migraine, so he stays home from school, which is more than fine with Zayn. He’s not really eager to see Harry. Or Louis. Or really anyone. His mum leaves pills and water on his bedside table and dims his lights before she leaves for work, and he sleeps for most of the day.
-
But he turns up to school on Tuesday like normal -- he’d left a bit early to walk, since Harry usually gave him a ride, and he hadn’t wanted to sit around waiting when it wasn’t likely to happen.
In Biology he keeps his head down and tries desperately not to accidentally make eye contact with Louis. He concentrates on the lecture instead, and as a result ends up with his most detailed notes of the year, so at least maybe there’s a small benefit to this mess he’s in.
He waits a full five minutes after they’re dismissed to look up, and when he finally does, Louis has gone and the room is empty.
-
Instead of going to the cafeteria at lunch, Zayn heads for the library. He’s not in the mood to sit by himself, and sitting with Harry and Louis feels out of the question, and he can’t think of anywhere else to go. It’s locked, though, because there’s a study hall going on inside, so he sighs and sits down at a bench next to the door, unwrapping his sandwich and setting it next to him even though he has no desire to eat it. He pulls out his sketchbook instead and sits it on his lap, not sure what he means to do but wanting to look like he’s doing something, if only to discourage anyone from bothering him.
After several minutes he hears someone approaching. He focuses on his sketchbook, drawing in several sharp lines and trying to look occupied. However, the person stops next to him, and when he looks up, Niall’s there, smiling.
“There you are,” Niall says, like he’s been looking for him.
“Yeah,” he says, “Here I am.”
“You weren’t at lunch,” Niall says, as if maybe Zayn hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, well. S’pose you know that Harry and I fought about Louis, then?”
“Louis mentioned it, yeah.” He doesn’t sound angry, though, just... neutral, conversational. Like they’re talking about the weather.
“Y’gonna lecture me for being a twat, then?” He knows he sounds bratty, but he doesn’t particularly care right now. He’s still in a foul mood, and he figures either Harry or Louis has sent Niall to tell him what a prat he’s been.
“Nah,” Niall drawls easily, sitting down next to Zayn on the bench.
Zayn’s a bit confused. “But aren’t you and Louis, like, best mates? Shouldn’t you be defending his honor to me or something?”
Louis hardly needs defending,” Niall says. He curls one leg underneath him and takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair before putting it back on. Oh, Zayn thinks. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sight. “Anyway, Harry’s your mate too. Hardly a crime to be protective of him.”
“I’m not protective,” Zayn protests. “I just don’t -- I don’t think Louis’ right for him.”
“Right, cos you don’t want Harry to get hurt.”
“No, because Louis’ a twat.” Zayn sort of regrets saying it as soon as he does -- it’s not like it’s not true, but even though he’s upset with Louis it’s still probably not great form to insult someone’s mate, especially when Niall’s only been perfectly nice to Zayn. “Erm. I mean. Sorry.”
But Niall just laughs, all loud and his smile taking over his face. “He’s a bit of a twat sometimes, you’re right. But he’s a good sort of twat.”
“I guess,” Zayn mumbles, because he can’t think of anything else to say that won’t make him sound like the arsehole he very probably is.
“Mind if I stay?” Niall asks, like he’s not already sat down and pulled out a frankly impressive array of lunch foods, arranging them on his lap.
“Um. No?” He can’t work out why Niall would want to sit outside the library with him, but also can’t think of a way to ask without being rude.
“Brilliant,” Niall says, peeling a banana. They sit there like that in a companionable silence, Niall eating steadily and Zayn half-heartedly scribbling in his sketchbook.
“What’re you drawing, then?” Niall asks eventually.
“Dunno yet,” Zayn says. “Guess it’s abstract, or something.”
“Is it for your portfolio?”
“Probably not, no. Just passing time, mostly.”
Niall nods like that makes perfect sense. “D’you ever show anyone? Your drawings?” he asks.
“You can look, if you want,” Zayn says, digging out his portfolio from his bag. “Mostly it’s just technique stuff, but.”
Niall flips through the pages, nodding occasionally, and Zayn stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling suddenly exposed. “These’re really good,” Niall says after a bit.
Zayn feels himself blush, embarrassingly. “Er, thanks.” The bell rings, making him jump, and Niall hands his drawings back.
“S’true” Niall says, standing and shouldering his bag. “See you around, then.”
“See you,” Zayn says, a bit flummoxed, staring after Niall and trying to sort out what’s just happened. He can’t, though, and makes himself late for history trying.
-
As if the day is purposefully trying to end up as strange as possible, Liam is leaning against his locker after his last class, with an alarmingly purposeful glint in his eye.
“Zayn, hi,” Liam says when he sees Zayn heading towards him.
“Liam,” he nods. “Alright?”
“Yeah, m’good,” Liam says, side-stepping out of the way so that Zayn can get into his locker and dig out his bag and his sunglasses. “Are you busy?”
“Um, no? I was just going home.” He can’t fathom why Liam wants to know, but suspects he’s about to find out.
“I could give you a ride, if you want?” Liam offers. “I sort of wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright.”
Zayn can’t think of a reasonable excuse that might get him out of it. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, and follows Liam out to the parking lot and into his beat up, bright yellow car. “Just next door to Harry’s,” he directs, and then sits silently, waiting for Liam to tell him what he wanted to talk about.
“Are you, erm.” Liam starts, fiddling awkwardly with the knobs on the radio. “Like, in love? With Harry?”
“What?” Zayn says. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been that. “No, ‘course not.”
“No, sorry,” Liam apologizes. “I just thought maybe, cos you seemed so against him and Louis, and you two fought about him, and. I didn’t mean -- I don’t even know if you’re, like.” He doesn’t continue, just waves his hand vaguely.
“No, I mean, it’s not that,” Zayn says, realizing what he means. “Harry’s like my brother, yeah? That’s all.”
Liam relaxes a fraction, like he’d been worried that his assumption that Zayn was into blokes might have offended him, and Zayn wants to shake his head and start over, or possibly just erase this conversation from history altogether. But Liam looks intent on plowing ahead, squaring his shoulders before going on.
“It’s just that,” he starts. “Louis’ sort of like my brother too, yeah?”
Zayn squints a bit. “So you know what he’s like, then.” He’s still trying rather hard not to insult Louis directly to his friends, but even Liam must be able to understand why he’s not overly fond of the notion of Louis and Harry getting together.
“I do know what he’s like,” Liam says slowly. “I know that loads of people think he’s loud and brash and a pain in the arse and -- and a bit of a slag.” He stops to swallow hard and Zayn notices that his knuckles are white gripping the steering wheel, like that perception of Louis bothers him more than he’s trying to let on. “But I also know that he’s loyal, and kind, and -- and brave, and that he doesn’t deserve the reputation he has, not by half.”
“Hm,” says Zayn. He doesn’t recall ever having heard Liam say so many words in a row before, and certainly not with such conviction in his voice. It almost makes him consider the idea that he’d been unfair to Louis. Almost. Possibly.
“I know what people think about me, too,” Liam continues. “That I’m a bore, and not very cool, and all that.” Zayn thinks he ought to protest, vaguely, but he stays silent. “M’not exactly popular, but the first day Louis started here he sat with me at lunch at started talking to me like we’d been mates for years even though we’d never met before, and when I told him it’d probably be best if he wasn’t seen hanging around me, he said he couldn’t give a toss what anyone had to say, so.” Liam breathes in quickly, once, like all the words had taken some effort to get out. “And I know he says he doesn’t care what people think about him, but I do, and it’s crap that you’re being so awful to him. He really likes Harry, and he deserves a chance at it.”
“Look,” says Zayn, feeling a bit at loose ends. It’s strange to have someone talk to him about Louis like they know him better than Zayn does, even though Zayn realizes it’s probably true. “I know Louis a bit too, alright? And I know he probably means well, but he’ll get bored of Harry and move on to something new and interesting in less than a fortnight, and Harry’ll be shattered, and I just -- I can’t let him do that to Harry. I’m sorry if that, like, hurts your feelings or something, but that’s how it is.” He crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative, which is something that he’s usually quite good at, but apparently Liam isn’t swayed by his particular brand of posturing, because he just pulls a sad smile and shakes his head, like Zayn’s missing something important.
“Harry can make his own choices, y’know,” Liam says.
“‘Course I know that,” says Zayn, a bit defensively. “Only I’m not going to sit around and pretend to be happy while he gets his heart broken if I can help it.”
“I know,” says Liam, nodding as if he’d expected that exact response. “That’s not the sort of mate you are. But you can’t decide everything for him, and if he wants to give Louis a shot -- and obviously I’m biased, but I think he ought to -- then you should let him.”
They pull into the drive in front of Zayn’s house and Liam parks the car, turning to face him. “I like Harry too, y’know, and I wouldn’t be saying this if I thought Louis was out to hurt him. So maybe just think about giving them a break, yeah?”
Zayn considers this. “I’ll think about it. Maybe.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Liam responds. “And just -- for the record, Harry’s lucky to have you looking out for him, so.” He shrugs, and Zayn’s not sure what to say, so he says nothing.
“Anyway, that’s all,” Liam says, unlocking the doors. Zayn gathers his bag and climbs out of the car, stopping to lean down to peer through the open window.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says awkwardly, and Liam smiles.
“See you around, yeah?” Liam asks.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, waving once as Liam pulls away. He stands in the drive for several minutes after the car turns a corner and disappears out of sight, wondering when Liam Payne became so damn perceptive.
part 3