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Liam takes a deep breath, reaches up to make sure the wild curls are tight on his head, breathes again. And steps onstage.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice booms, “Bronson Wisconsin!”
Liam opens his mouth to sing.
His mom wants him to take the next day off school, but Liam refuses. He’s yawning all day, but that’s how it goes—Bronson Wisconisn can skip school, maybe, but on weekdays Liam’s not Bronson Wisconsin, curly-haired superstar. He’s Liam Payne, high school junior, possessor of two friends, C’s in six subjects, and a rather unfortunate shaved head. One of those two friends, Liam realizes sleepily, is now saying his name.
“Liam, Zayn,” Harry Styles says, “did you see Bronson Wisconsin on TV last night?”
Zayn Malik, Liam’s other friend, keeps eating his peanut butter sandwich.
“Um,” Liam says, “No.”
“He was amazing,” Harry says. “What d’you think his real name is?”
Zayn snorts loudly. It would be unattractive, except it’s Zayn.
“Probably something awful,” Liam says. “Francis.”
“Francis,” Harry repeats dreamily.
Liam sighs. There are worse things, he guesses, than one of your best friends having a crush on your secret alter ego. Zayn, for instance—Zayn hates Bronson Wisconsin.
Sure enough, he’s laughing at Harry now, saying, “I don’t know why you waste your time on that loser.” Liam feels a pang, even though Zayn doesn’t know it’s Liam he’s insulting. Whatever.
He turns on his phone when he gets home—Zayn makes fun of him, but he always keeps it off in school—to find a voicemail waiting. There’s no name or number left, just “Call me. Immediately!” but Liam rolls his eyes and dials anyway—half of America and three-quarters of England would recognize that voice.
“Tomlinson.”
“Payne! They’re saying we’re dating again! It’s ridiculous!”
“Hello to you, too, Louis,” Liam says. “How was your—”
“We have to put a stop to it,” Louis barrels over him.
“Louis,” Liam says, “You’re a male popstar. You’re gonna get gay rumors. That’s the job.”
Louis’s actually quiet for a moment, then, “I don’t care about that! It’s you! We’re bitter rivals, Payne! We don’t love each other! We hate each other!”
Liam thinks about this for a second. He does hate Louis, he really does, but—
“Then why do you have my private phone number? And why do you know my real name?”
“We’re frenemies, Liam,” Louis says. “Frenemies!”
“I’m hanging up now,” Liam says, and does, Louis still yelling, “Frenemies!” at him. He doesn’t have time for temperamental popstars—he has homework to do.
Liam gets up for school the next morning and goes down for breakfast. His bodyguard is in the kitchen.
“No,” Liam says. “No, we agreed! That was the deal. Nothing weird at school!”
“Relax,” Bobby says. “I’m just dropping Niall off.”
He steps aside so Liam can see his blond son standing there. Liam knows Niall Horan pretty well—he’s always following his dad around on the job—but he’s not sure why he’s here.
“See,” his mom says, “we were worried about the security situation at school. So Niall’s gonna go with you!”
Joe is large, Irish, and imposing. Niall is tiny, Irish, and smiling. Liam is not sure how he’s supposed to do his dad’s job.
“I’m just gonna snoop around,” Niall says. “Make sure nobody’s onto you, that sort of thing.”
“He’s posing as an exchange student staying with you,” Joe says. “You’ll have fun.”
“Okay,” Liam says. As long as his cover isn’t blown.
“So, um, look,” Liam says to Niall. “You know me as, as, you-know-who, right? But like, I’m not famous here.”
“Okay,” Niall says.
Liam sighs. “Like, I kind of only have two friends.”
Niall grins. “Well, now you have three.”
Niall sits with them at lunch. Harry sits down humming “Nobody’s Perfect” under his breath and Niall and Zayn explode into laughter. Liam blushes. Okay, he knows why Niall’s laughing, but Zayn, too?
“It’s not that bad a song!” he blurts out, making them both laugh harder.
“It’s not the song,” Zayn says, actually sounding a bit angry, and—okay, it’s not one of his best, he could deal with that, but he doesn’t like having Zayn angry with either him.
He shakes Niall after school to spend some time alone with Zayn. They walk down to the park and sit in the ditch they used to play in as kids, before Zayn grew into his face and started having a date every weekend, before Liam became Bronson Wisconsin and was always touring or recording or something.
Liam loves Harry, but there’s something extra-nice about this, sitting in silence and not really thinking while Zayn pulls out a marker and doodles the tattoos he wants to get when he’s eighteen.
“Been too long,” Liam says after they’ve been happily quiet for a while.
“Yeah, well,” Zayn says. He sounds a little bitter and a little wishful and a little like he can’t quite be mad, and Liam understands. Yeah, well,
“I like your friends,” Niall says on Friday. “Good guys.”
Liam nods.
“Good-looking, too.”
“Harry cut his hair to look like my fake hair,” Liam points out.
Niall laughs. “What about that Zayn though?”
Liam shrugs. “He’s okay.”
It’s a blatant lie—Zayn is obviously much, much more than okay—but, well, Liam’s his best friend. And best friends aren’t supposed to notice things like eyelashes, or sparkly rare smiles; best friends are definitely not supposed to notice collarbones.
“You’re full of it, man,” Niall says, “Zayn’s like, the most beautiful human I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah,” Liam says, “He does get the girls, doesn’t he?”
Liam has an awful day at school Wednesday—a 68 on his algebra test he can’t make up, and to cap it off guys in gym giving him crap for, well, something. He doesn’t know what. But it isn’t fun. So by the time he gets to the recording studio that evening, he is really, really not in the mood to run into Louis Tomlinson.
“Bronson Wisconsin,” Tomlinson calls to him. “My ludicrously named one true love! Us Weekly’s blogs say we were on a dinner date last night, how come I didn’t get laid?”
Liam groans. “I’m not in the mood, Tomlinson. And if we went on a dinner date you’d probably poison my Coke.”
“I could do that anyway,” Louis says.
Liam and Zayn became best friends when they were five years old and both dressed as Batman for Halloween. They were both a little quiet, a little strange; they didn’t make too many friends and made a fair number of enemies. Harry moved to their neighborhood when they were ten and was the opposite of quiet, too loud, too clumsy, too much in everyone’s space; nobody liked him, either.
It was the three of them against the world until high school, when Zayn discovered girls and Harry boys and girls and they got discovered right back, Liam scared for weeks that they’d forget about him now that they were suddenly popular and he was even less so then he used to be. Soon as they figured out he was eating lunch in the library, though, they were there with him until he decided he was ready to face the cafeteria. And then Liam got discovered, too, just not by girls—by an agent. And that was that.
He’s so, so, unbelievably lucky, is the thing, even if it doesn’t look it when he goes a whole school day without talking to anyone because Harry’s sick and Zayn’s working on an art project. He knows he’s supposed to say it’s not about the money, but Liam came from too little not to appreciate having so much, not to thrill at how, at sixteen, he could buy himself a car, pay off his family’s mortgage, buy Harry a Disneyland season pass for his birthday and set up a secret fake scholarship fund for Zayn’s college. So it is about the money, but it’s also about his fans, not because they love him (he’s got enough love from Harry and his parents and especially Zayn) but because they love his music, it’s about living a dream, it’s about the way it feels to stand in front of hundreds of people and sing. He takes crap from critics for not writing his own songs, but they don’t get that it doesn’t matter because it’s still his voice, because while he may use a fake name when he performs he never (except maybe sitting in the ditch with Zayn) feels more like Liam Payne than when he’s singing.
“I have a date this weekend,” Zayn announces.
“Call the papers,” Liam says. “Next you’ll tell me Harry has one, too.”
“I do,” Harry says without looking up from his English homework. “It’s with Niall.”
Niall looks sheepish, but he also lets Harry slide down the cafeteria bench until he’s practically on top of him, so Liam figures Harry’s not joking. He guesses it’s not all that surprising really.
“It’s with a dude,” Zayn says.
Liam almost doesn’t register it.
“My date,” he says again. “It’s with a guy.”
Liam’s dimly aware that Harry and Niall are making all the noises you’re supposed to make, “good for you,” and all that, but he’s not really registering anything but eyelashes, smile, collarbone, and letting himself, just once, do that without feeling guilty.
Liam’s supposed to be part of a charity concert around Christmas; it’s just a couple songs from each act so the rehearsal process is a whole lot of hurry up and wait. His wig is itchy so he’s staying stuck in his dressing room with it off instead of socializing.
There’s a rap on the door and he panics for a second but Niall’s voice calls out, “Sorry, it’s me!” and slips in quickly. “Brought alcohol, aren’t you pleased with me,” he says, holding up two bottles of beer in his left hand. Liam winces.
“I’m not really supposed to drink,” he says. “I mean, I never have?”
“Your first time!” Niall crows, handing over the bottle, so Liam takes it, twists off the cap and plays with it awkwardly. He knows Niall won’t mind if he doesn’t take a drink, but also maybe he’ll do it anyway.
“So,” he says, for something to say, “you and Harry?” They’ve been on two dates now, are starting to act a little coupley, but Liam hasn’t been alone with either of them to ask about it yet.
“Me and Harry,” Niall says, and he goes a little gooey-eyed—Liam’s pretty sure half a beer can’t do that to you, so he must really be into Harry.
“It’s just,” Niall goes on, “I dunno, I like him, yeah? Like, I like him. It’s just, like, liking.”
Liam raises his eyebrows. “That your first drink?”
Niall rolls his eyes. “Yes, mom. I’m not even tipsy, okay? Just, you know, I—”
“You like him,” Liam says, and takes a sip of his beer, which he promptly regrets.
“Niall?” he asks. “Is it supposed to be disgusting?”
“You’ve got no taste,” Niall says, somewhat loudly, because the next second Louis Tomlinson is poking his head in.
“Are we insulting Liam?” he asks. “Wonderful, I’ve been working on one about his falsetto for weeks.” Niall snickers a bit. “Are you drinking that, Liam?” Louis adds. “Say yes, because then I’ll have more fun taking it from you.”
Liam hands it over. “Enjoy,” he says, “Niall’s brought pond water instead of things humans are supposed to drink.”
Louis drinks down almost a quarter of it in one gulp and licks his lips, which Liam thinks is a little over the top.
“Did you see I’m billed higher than you, Liam? Means I’m more universally beloved. Or possibly they’re just embarrassed of your stupid rhyming name.”
“Is this some kind of mating display?” Niall asks, and Liam realizes he hasn’t actually met Louis before.
“No!” they both say, horrified, but at the exact same time, so they have to pinky jinx, which brings Niall’s holding-back-laughter face out in full force.
“We’re just, um—”
“—frenemies,” Louis finishes for Liam. “Frenemies. It’s a thing.”
“I don’t like Louis,” Liam says. He can’t stop thinking about who he does like lately, not since that lunchtime announcement—but he’s getting distracted, and it’s time for him to get ready to go on.
Winter break is a whirlwind—doing the charity concert, shopping for presents that hit the balance point between plausibility and extravagance, deep-cleaning the kitchen after a tragic hot chocolate accident. And then it’s January and he’s back at school, choosing his classes for senior year and trying not to think about only having so much high school left, only so much time for throwing things at Harry and Niall until they stop making out in public, for ditching sixth and sitting on the wall behind the cafeteria with Zayn, for being this kind of person, a person with classes and worries and friends.
“So,” Harry says at lunch, “Bronson Wisconsin is doing a concert for Valentine’s Day? And that’s also when my birthday is? And I was wondering—”
“Don’t buy tickets,” Niall says, and Harry’s face falls. Niall kisses him.
“Don’t buy tickets because I have a hookup, I can get you in for free. You too, Zayn, if you wanna third-wheel.”
Zayn quirks his mouth. “Why the hell not?” he says.
Harry frowns. “Why isn’t Liam invited?”
“He is,” Niall says. “Liam?”
Liam shakes his head. “Can’t. My grandma’s gonna be in town.”
It’s an easy lie even though he really doesn’t like telling it. He likes that it’s easy to lie to them least of all.
“Hey,” Liam says to Zayn, a couple weeks before the concert, “Can I spend the night tonight?”
“Not very polite to invite yourself over,” Zayn says, but he’s smiling.
“We just haven’t done it in ages,” Liam says, “and I’ve got a free weekend—” (He doesn’t really, but he has tonight and tomorrow off because his vocal coach has laryngitis. And he needs Zayn time.)
“Yeah,” Zayn says, “come over at eight,” and for a second Liam feels a little nervous thrill, before he remembers it’s only going over to Zayn’s.
“I thought,” Zayn says, fussing with something under the bed, “You could have your first beer.”
Liam bites his lip.
“I have already, though.”
Zayn’s face goes cold for a second. “Of course you have. Wasn’t thinking.”
“Hey,” Liam says, “it’s okay, it’s okay, we never used to drink at these things, just, like, play truth or dare.”
“Too sleepy for dares,” Zayn says, sweet again, leaning on Liam.
“Mmkay,” Liam says, “uh, what’s your favorite color of eyes?”
“Dunno,” says Zayn, “that’s a stupid question.”
“Okay, uh. If you could have any superpower—”
“Liaaaaaam,” Zayn groans.
“Okay, okay, um. Who’s your celebrity crush?”
Zayn pauses, lifts himself until he’s sitting upright, not touching Liam.
“Bronson Wisconsin,” he says.
Liam freezes.
“No,” he says, because it’s all he can think to say, “no, Harry likes Bronson Wisconsin, not you, you like that girl from Little Mix, you—”
Zayn twists his mouth so Liam can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning. “Liam, Perrie Edwards hasn’t been my best friend for twelve years.”
“Oh,” Liam says. “You knew.”
“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Of course I knew.”
The nervous thrill is back, trickling down Liam’s spine. He wants to kiss Zayn so much, and he feels himself leaning in—
But Zayn isn’t.
“You couldn’t tell me?” he hisses, so angry Liam flinches back. “Were you laughing at me, Liam?”
“If I knew you knew—” Liam starts, but Zayn snorts.
“Twelve years, Liam, I’ve known you twelve years. I could probably pick your dick out of a lineup, you think I couldn’t recognize your face in a magazine?”
Liam can feel himself blushing, because of course Zayn knew, of course, Zayn must feel like Liam thought he was stupid.
“I’m sorry,” Liam says, because it has to be said, “I’ll go,” and practically runs out of the house and around the corner to where his car is parked. He’s too upset and confused and sad to drive, just turns on the radio.
Of course it’s a Louis Tomlinson song. He pulls out his phone and dials, gets “the voicemail of the great Louis Tomlinson, here’s hoping I’m not dead yet!” spits, “’like the showers that are British’ is a stupid lyric, Tomlinson, how does that even make sense,” into the phone and hangs up violently, shoulders shaking like they want to be sobbing.
The next day Liam does something he’s never done before, and skips school on Bronson Wisconsin business. His manager’s been bugging him to stop by the recording studio for a final sign-off on the new album and there’s no reason he can’t do it during normal business hours for once, he thinks. His main reason for keeping the two lives separate is gone anyway.
Only it turns out you’re supposed to make appointments for this sort of thing, so Liam ends up in some kind of waiting room alone for three hours, which is where he is when Louis shows up for work.
“Hey,” Louis says, looking oddly serious, “got your message. It’s a great lyric.”
Liam almost smiles.
Louis comes into the room, still looking determined. “Uh,” he says, moving closer and closer, until Liam is shocked to find him in Liam’s space. “Um,” and then Louis’s mouth is smashed against his.
It’s pretty gross, to be honest. Like, Liam’s first impulse is less to swoon than to flail his arms a bit and shout, both of which do a pretty good job of breaking the kiss.
“Oh thank God that was horrible,” Louis says.
Liam pulls a face at him.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Louis goes on, “just, there’s this girl, Eleanor, and I really like her, and I just? Wanted to make sure the rumors aren’t true?”
Liam blinks at him. “Are you saying you read online you were in love with me and weren’t sure whether to believe it or not?”
Louis shrugs. “Love’s confusing.”
It shouldn’t make Liam feel better, but it does.
For the next two weeks he and Zayn tiptoe around each other. They’re not quite fighting but they’re not not-fighting either, polite but not friendly. Liam doesn’t know what Zayn is thinking—Harry won’t tell him, if Zayn is even talking to him—but on his own side he’s feeling guilt, and regret, and he’s so angry he’s never gonna get to kiss Zayn and it’s his own stupid fault for not trusting him.
Harry clearly doesn’t like it, sticking more closely to Niall than to either of them, and Niall lets him cling more than he usually does, which means Niall doesn’t approve of their behavior either. Liam doesn’t approve of their behavior, but he doesn’t know how to change.
And then Liam is getting his wig on again for the first time since that December concert. He doesn’t tour during the school year but he does shows in LA sometimes and it always feels good to remember why he loves his job.
It’s good to remember, too, that Niall and Harry are in the crowd tonight, even if Harry, bless his heart, really doesn’t know it’s him, even if he’s sure Zayn gave up his ticket and is sitting at home, not thinking about him.
He does all the classics from his first album in the first half, loves revisiting lyrics he flubbed out of nerves when he was just starting out, impromptu covers a Taylor Swift song just to make everybody scream before he goes offstage for a break.
Zayn’s waiting in his dressing room.
“You were good out there,” Zayn says. “You’re always good. I was stupid not to just tell you before.”
Liam wrinkles his brow. “You’ve never come to a concert before.”
Zayn shrugs one shoulder. “Youtube.”
“I was stupid,” Liam says, and Zayn says, “Yeah,” and then smiles at him, just a little but sparklier than any he’s given Liam in the past two weeks, and Liam can’t help grinning.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Liam says, and Zayn shakes his head.
“Miss out on seeing you live? You’re a superstar, man,” he says, and maybe it’s because it’s Zayn, but the word “superstar” sounds different in his mouth than it does in anyone else’s.
“I have to go back on,” Liam says, because if he doesn’t make himself say it he’ll never go.
“Yeah,” Zayn says, and Liam rushes to the stage to whisper in his guitar guy’s ear, because he has an idea.
“All right,” Liam says, “This isn’t in the plan for tonight, but I’m gonna preview one of the songs from the new album for you? Pretty sure my manager’ll be mad, but. It’s really important.”
He’s a little shaky starting out—he’s never performed this one live before, and that’s always a little scary. But when he gets to the chorus, well, you can’t really see anyone specific in a pop concert crowd, it just isn’t possibly. But he’s singing right to Zayn anyway.
“If we were a movie, then you’d be the right guy, and I’d be the best friend, that you’d fall in love with in the end,” he sings, and it feels like a magic spell, like he’s making it true by singing it to a thousand screaming preteens, and Zayn. Zayn who maybe, maybe, has fallen in love with his best friend in the end.
“That was cheesy,” Zayn says, coming into Liam’s dressing room. Liam’s in just jeans and he can see Zayn check him out, knows even before Zayn says anything that that means they’re more than okay.
“My stage name is Bronson Wisconsin,” he says, and Zayn laughs, and then he’s kissing him, lips firm on his, hand warm at the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Liam says, when they pull apart for a second, “you didn’t get my first kiss either, it was Louis Tomlinson.”
“I’ll kill him,” Zayn says, and ducks back in to kiss Liam again, and Liam kisses back and feels even more himself than he does onstage, even more in love than he does sitting silently in their ditch, even more incredibly lucky than he already did—which is saying something.