Work Text:
It’s Thursday.
Circuit training day.
Liam is on his third set of lifts on the bench press. He has the steady weight of the barbell resting on the palms of his hands, leaving his knuckles at ease as he lowers the bar closer to his chest. He lets out a low grunt, then a deep exhale as he extends his arms straight up, pushing most of the air from his lungs and being careful not to lock his elbows.
He keeps his eyes open, steady on a spot of a water stain on the ceiling of the weight room. What was once the size of a pin has expanded to a vague outline of a bowtie.
“Three more.” Harry says, leaning over Liam with a grin. Harry curls his hand back around the bar, knuckles loose around the center of it. “Hurry up.”
“Shush.” Liam takes in another breath as he lowers the bar back to his chest. He can feel sweat puddling under his spine.
“The sooner you’re done, the sooner we get to do lunges, and the sooner we do deadlifts and a warm down on the erg, and the sooner we can go back to Real Life.”
Liam pushes up a little faster than the last rep, hissing through an exhale when he feels his triceps burning. He pinches his eyes closed for a moment, losing focus on the off white splotch on the ceiling.
“Liam,” Harry says, “focus.”
Liam keeps his feet flat on the ground, pushing his last rep straight up with a loud groan.
“That’s it!” Harry guides the bar back into the stand. He claps his hands over the bar, “Come on, last bit–I’m already cooling off.”
“Just give–” Liam sucks down another breath, closing his eyes again. He can’t even bring himself to take his hands off the bar. “I–”
He’s cut off by a hum, can feel the brush of Harry’s lips pressing against his. A drop of sweat glides down his temple as the neck of Harry’s shirt brushes against Liam’s forehead. It’s quick, sweet, and Harry is laughing into the kiss as he gently runs a knuckle down the side of Liam’s arm.
Liam wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out to highlight his feigned disgust. “What was that for?”
“I don’t know,” Harry giggles again. “I just haven’t seen you in a while.” He gives two quick pats to Liam’s cheek as Liam tries to hide his own smile.
“Well hello then,” he says, breaking into a smile. He can’t help it when Harry’s more affectionate than usual.
“Come on, you silly goose,” Harry mumbles, hovering over Liam. He looks funny like this, upside down, so close that Liam’s gone a bit cross-eyed.
“Alright,” Liam brings his hand down from the bar and playfully nudges Harry’s face out of the way. “Let me up.”
They finish up their circuits, then head over to the ergs for a warm down, keeping their muscles loose and lax. Harry doesn’t say another word until Liam loosens the foot straps around the tops of his shoes. Liam heads over to his water bottle, shaking out his left leg and takes a long swig of water.
Harry’s already at his side armed with equipment cleaner.
“So,” Harry sprays the nozzle of the bottle onto the seat of his erg. He tosses Liam the roll of paper towels to wipe them down. Harry lets out an exaggerated hack, waving away at the specks of diluted ammonia floating in the air from his face.
“So what?” Liam asks.
“How've you been, pal?”
"Good," Liam shrugs.
"Haven't seen much of you this week. How've you been?"
"You already asked me that.”
“Yeah, but I was hoping you’d elaborate on good.”
Liam balls up a paper towel and lobs it toward the trashcan.
“There’s a lot happening," he says. The paper towel misses the lip, bouncing back onto the ground. Liam sighs and sulks over to pick it up and dump it into the can.
“Must be,” Harry says, "haven't even seen you at yoga at all this week, let alone the apartment that we both live in."
Liam straightens up and rubs at a knot forming at his neck. "You do yoga now?"
"A friend once told me it’s a great stress reliever. They were right,” Harry smirks, “helps that the instructor is hot, too."
Liam gives a little laugh, trying to push past the rabble of butterflies swarming around his tummy. He considers scooting his way around Harry and straight into the locker room. He averts his eyes from the wall and directly to an erg just over Harry’s shoulder.
"He's a nice looking dude, yeah," Liam says. He pulls up the hem of his shirt to wipe at the sweat drying at his temples.
“Just ‘nice looking?’”
“Okay, alright, Niall’s handsome,” he says, words muffled under his shirt.
“Anything else you want to add to that, Dad?”
“Oh, shut up,” Liam scowls, taking one last brush to his neck.
"He’s pretty hot,” Harry says, lifting his chin up, “and so's his roommate."
Liam drops his shirt and clenches his fist at his hip. “Roommate?”
“Yeah, you know, the quiet one you made The Eyes at last Sunday,” Harry leans in closer to Liam, batting his eyelashes. “If I remember correctly, you then performed some mating ritual, à la Def Leppard.”
Liam’s heart sinks straight to his navel, and of course the conversation was going to lead to this. It’s the last thing Liam wants to talk about, the topic chewing away at the back of his mind for the past four days. He hasn’t talked to anyone about his Series of Unfortunate Events since that night.
On that Sunday night, his embarrassment outpaced his state of drunkenness after the Incident in the Karaoke Bar Bathroom and got him home in time to stick his head back in a toilet. Harry was by Liam’s side; he can still feel the ghost of Harry’s fingers dancing up and down his spine, petting away at the hairs curling on his forehead.
“We can’t always hold down our drinks,” Harry had said, “you held up pretty well for yourself tonight.”
“No,” Liam moaned, “it’s not like that. It’s worse. So much worse.”
“The spinning’ll stop eventually.”
“No,” he had let out a dry heave into their toilet, the events of the night still fresh in his mind.
Liam was used to dealing with the spins, the occasional time when another round of drinks would burn back up through his throat with a pang of regret poking at his side. He’d never had to deal with complete and utter embarrassment on top of it all.
The morning after wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it could have gone. He sipped on a bottle of Powerade Harry left on his nightstand before taking a slow walk down Denny and weaving through Belltown for the rest of the day.
He had been leafing through the latest Avengers shipments at Zanadu when his phone went off.
Liam nearly doubles over snapping back into his surroundings when Harry slaps his hand over Liam’s crotch.
“Hey!” He swats at Harry’s hand.
“Niall said he’s been trying to call you all week,” Harry says. Liam shakes his head, swaying around Harry and making a line toward the locker room.
“Leave it,” he grumbles.
“Liam.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Liam walks around Harry to put up the ergs. He nods past a pair of club members heading out for a run and straight through the doorway of the locker room.
“Still?” he hears Harry trailing behind him. “It’s been, like, a week, and you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
Liam snakes his way down the row of lockers.
“It’s been four days, and it’s not nothing, okay?” Liam slams open his locker and sheds his shirt.
“Oh, four days, my apologies.” Harry folds his arms over his chest. “Give me your phone.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Give me your phone, Liam.”
“No.”
“Then tell me something: how many times has Zayn tried to talk to you this week?”
Liam’s face burns hot. He feels a bit nauseous, really. It’s got to be from the burpies or the box jumps, but as soon as he remembers standing in the middle of Zanadu, putting down a stack of Marvel issues to silence his phone as soon as he saw Zayn, his stomach starts to plunge all over again. He didn’t bother to listen to the voicemail right away.
Harry lets out a deep sigh, “Three. He’s called you three times this week. That doesn’t sound like nothing’s going on to me.”
Liam rubs a hand over the back of his neck, squeezing at the junction that meets his shoulder.
“Exactly!” He slams his hand into the locker next to his own. “Wait—how do you know that?”
Harry finishes peeling off his spandex shorts and straightens up to narrow his eyes. He’s down to his socks with his hands on his hips, and Liam’s baffled as to how in this moment he feels more exposed than a naked Harry.
“Niall told me—”
“Niall told you?”
“Yes, Niall. Who is Zayn’s roommate. And also someone you see on a regular basis and is now wondering about you. He’s acting friendly. And you? This isn’t like you.”
Liam stands up a bit straighter. “I’ve been busy this week.”
“You already told me that,” he throws his hands up, voice sounding a bit hysterical. “I got it, considering the only times I’ve seen you this week have been at home. We haven’t trained together in almost a week, and I’ve seen more of the light of your TV from under your bedroom door. I know you better than anyone, and you always make time for yoga.” Harry keeps his hands on his hips, pants bundled in his fist against his waist, “You haven’t gone to yoga once this week.”
“There’s a lot going on with Head of the Lake coming up.”
“So much that you can’t take a quick phone call?”
Liam laughs, “who even calls people after hooking up anymore?”
“Someone who’s interested.” Harry cocks an eyebrow, “will you text him at least? Just a little, heeeeeeey wouldn’t hurt.” He winks, bopping the tip of his finger against Liam’s nose.
Liam shakes his head and takes a step back from Harry. He’s seen Harry naked a countless number of times, but right now, he’d rather they’d both be fully clothed hearing anymore about Zayn.
Liam tugs at the string of his sweats. “Would you please put some clothes on?”
“Am I distracting you?”
Liam scowls.
“Fine.” Harry lets out a huff and steps into his pants, smoothing over the waistband. “That better? Because I’d like for us to have a serious conversation. We’re adults, and but I don’t know how many times I need to tell you what happened last weekend was—”
“As if you’d even know how mortifying—”
“You’re right,” Harry shields himself from Liam, putting his hands up, “I don’t, but I am trying to tell you that Zayn has been asking Niall about you.”
Liam pushes his locker door closed and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’m not interested. I don’t know why he should be, too.”
“Then let him know.”
“You’d think me ignoring him would be a good enough hint.”
“What is wrong with you? You sound like a complete asshole right now.”
Liam moves to make his way around Harry, but he’s stopped by Harry’s palm flat against his chest. It knocks the breath out of him, but the glare on Harry’s face stings like a punch in his gut.
“I wish you could have seen the two of you last Sunday.”
Liam closes his eyes for a minute and takes a deep breath. “I was drunk. Very horny. I did what I always do.”
He watches Harry bite his lip, perhaps holding onto a thought to himself before parting his lips again. “I give up. Let’s go get some pizza.”
Liam follows Harry out of the boat house, into the rain of the night, and straight to the bus stop. Harry goes on about his plans for the weekend as Liam holds a survey of the people on Broadway are bold enough to be carrying their groceries in paper bags, watching the weight of the contents sag from the handles. He counts seven by the time they step out at Seattle Central. He picks up his pace as they pass the karaoke bar and snake their way up Pine and cut through 11th, stepping through a few puddles and tucking into a record store for a new vinyl Harry's been keeping his eyes out for. It's not there, and Liam sends Harry a text to remind him to call up the record shop in Ballad later. They always have what he wants, even if the shop is five times smaller than the one on Capitol Hill.
Liam follows Harry up Pike and curbs his craving for a soy latte.
They're stopped at the corner across from the pizza joint when Harry squeezes Liam's bicep.
"Get us a table," Harry nods, "I have to go take some cash out."
The familiar sweet, warm smell of tomato basil is already luring Liam inside from across the street. They part ways, Harry toeing back down the grade to the ATM while Liam tugs at the string of his bag at his shoulder to cross Madison. He minds the stream of water at the curb, watching a stray scarlet leaf float over it and pushes through the door to the restaurant.
He slips the hood of his windbreaker off his head as he walks over to the register to wait for someone to seat him at a table. The front room is empty, red booths waiting for the late night crowd to crawl in when the music venue across the street locks up. Liam's busy mussing up the crown of his hair with the palm of his hand as he watches the guy at the front window slather a ladle of sauce over pizza dough.
“Can I help you?”
Liam turns to the voice from behind him, immediately shoving the hand that was on the back of his head into his jacket pocket. He has a hard time swallowing, feels like the ceiling has dropped down to his shoulders, and, shit.
“Oh,” is all he says.
Zayn takes a step back from the register and crosses his arms over his chest, and Liam is quick to study the weekly specials littered across the counter rather than the ink on Zayn’s forearm. His heart lurches in his chest, and the last thing he wants to do is look up at the guy he gave an embarrassingly messy bathroom blowjob (on top of skirting around his phone calls).
He’s going to kill Harry when he finally gets back from the ATM.
“You work here?” Liam tilts his head to the side, and he wishes he could swallow down his whole tongue to make himself shut up already. He’s come here with Harry a countless number of times, and never once has he been here at the same time as Zayn. Or maybe he just never noticed (how could he not have noticed Zayn?).
“Yeah,” Zayn says, “would you like to order a slice or something?”
Liam blinks and sees the back door at the end of the hallway open. Another server steps back inside and wipes their hand on the front of their apron. He considers excusing himself to the restroom and holding out a little longer.
“Harry’s coming,” he lets out instead. God, he should probably charge headfirst through a window.
“Booth or table?”
“Booth.”
Zayn picks up two menus and turns up the steps into the second dining room. Liam watches the heel of Zayn’s boot scuff the edge of the last step and follows him.
He slides off his bag and jacket before slipping into the booth. Liam takes the menu from Zayn, plastering on a smile yet refusing to look up.
“I’ll bring some water,” Zayn says and promptly leaves.
Liam sets down the menu, minding the candle flickering at the center of his table and bouncing his knee under the tablecloth that has pooled into his lap. Even the upper dining room is deserted, which isn’t surprising for half past three: a time too late for lunch, yet too early for a dinner. Liam always loved going out at this time simply for this reason, but only in good company. Without Harry here with him, he takes a keen interest in the neatly pressed red and white table cloths draped over each table.
Liam pulls his phone out of his bag and sets it next to his fork setting as soon as Zayn puts down two large red cups of ice water, then sets a pair of straws between them.
“So,” Liam tears the paper off a straw and swirls the ice around in his cup. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to swallow down, and his hands are starting to quake. He hopes he isn’t too obvious, and god, he wishes he couldn’t remember Sunday night at all. It’d be a million times better to have it all wiped from his memory and bullshit his way through not knowing Zayn well, or even better, pretend he couldn’t remember him at all. He tears his eyes away from a bead of water sliding down the side of his cup to look up at Zayn. “How’ve you been?”
Zayn licks the corner of his mouth and clicks the top of his pen. “Can I get you started with anything?”
Liam sinks lower into his seat, balling his fist into one of his pockets. His own plan of pretending nothing happened has backfired: Zayn has managed to one up him by acting like he doesn’t even know Liam. Of course, Zayn is on the clock, he’s doing his job, but shit. Despite thinking he would be better off not being remembered (especially for doing something as horrifying as giving a stranger a sloppy, vodka-fueled blowjob in a dimly lit karaoke bar bathroom, followed by pouring out a third of the contents of his stomach in from of him, and then ignoring his calls all week) it hurts. It really makes Liam’s chest ache, and he wants to double over again override the pang that’s settling like rocks at the pit of his stomach.
“Coke. Sprite,” Zayn starts to list off, voice dry and low. “It’s Thursday, so PBR is half-priced.”
Liam pulls his hand back down to his lap to wipe off the condensation on his sweatpants. “Water’s fine.”
“Appetizers?”
Liam taps his finger on the table cloth, “Just a salad.”
“We have ranch, bleu cheese, or Italian.”
“Italian’s fine.”
Zayn turns away from the table as he scribbles the order down onto his notepad, and Liam starts to feel that familiar blush rise in his cheeks. He unlocks his phone to like a few posts on Instagram, passing the minutes away scrolling through Harry’s photos.
“Thanks.” Liam looks up to give a cursory nod and smile when Zayn sets the plate onto the table. He looks back down at the mountain of chopped iceberg leaves and picks up a fork to push aside a tomato, gets it fully saturated in dressing. Zayn is still standing beside him as he spears through a cucumber slice. He stills, pushing past that prickly feeling at the back of his neck.
Zayn clasps his hands and looks over his shoulder for a brief moment, the stretched neck of his shirt slipping lower down his chest. Liam looks at the ink strewn across his collarbone, remembers how smooth the skin was across his lips.
“Good to see you’re alive,” Zayn says, the cut of his cheekbones casting a shadow and slicing through the overhead lights.
Liam sets down his fork and takes a napkin from the dispenser to dab at the corner of his mouth. He clears his throat, “I don’t do boyfriends.”
Liam wants to bury his head under six miles of sand.
“Well,” Zayn snorts, “I wasn’t trying to be your boyfriend. I was just checking on you because you left sick.”
Sick. He’s going to be sick all over again, can taste the ghost of a second helping of Greyhounds burbling at the back of his throat, can smell the whiskey on Zayn’s breath and the sweat at his neck.
“Don’t remind me,” Liam snaps.
He regrets ordering this salad, regrets he has to sit here and take on everything that has made this week complete hell at once. It’s all a complete waste, especially the iceberg—even if it is crunchy, there is absolutely zero nutritional value. If only they offered arugula, or even fresh spinach.
Now Zayn is looming over him on top of it all.
“It’s not that serious,” Zayn says.
The Italian dressing here is always too sweet. Balsamic. Always balsamic. He can smell the sugar, pepper and oil falling through the bed of leaves. Even a vinaigrette would do.
“It was very embarrassing. Just leave it alone.” Liam picks up his fork and finally takes a bite. Still too sweet. “Do you have any balsamic and oil?”
Zayn narrows his eyes and scoffs, “You need to get over yourself.”
Liam flinches as soon as the words come out of Zayn’s mouth. He needs Zayn to walk away, to let him pick through his salad in peace. Why haven’t any new customers walked in for pizza? Couldn’t Zayn go help with kitchen prep?
Liam’s lettuce has turned to stone, yet he somehow manages to swallow it down. He settles on dealing with the Italian dressing as it is. He sets his fork down again and looks up, “I’d like to order a cheese pie, please.”
Zayn purses his lips, and Liam catches Zayn’s hand clench into a fist at his side. Liam sits up higher, eyes unblinking and heart racing, waiting for Zayn to say something, anything.
Instead he just narrows his eyes and shakes his head before turning around to put in Liam’s order.
Liam runs a hand through his hair before picking up his phone to peck out a new message to Harry.
wear the fuck are u????
He stabs his fork into the middle of the salad and takes another bite, choking it down by the time it’s ready to be swallowed. His mood has completely killed his appetite, and it wouldn’t be worth having another ounce of the dreadful dressing anyway. He pushes the plate away from him, wadding up the napkin at his side to throw on top of the salad.
Zayn rounds the corner and stops at the edge of Liam’s table with one hand on his hip. Liam doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to confront the reason why the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach are waiting for him to look up.
Naturally, he concedes, lets out a silent sigh of defeat with his elbows propped up on the table. His spine is curved with a cheek resting on his hand, keeping Liam from reaching out to smooth away the hair that’s fallen onto Zayn’s forehead.
“Listen,” Zayn starts, “I checked in on you because I had a good time with you that night before it all happened. And Niall kept telling me you’re a good guy, so I was stupid enough to think, ‘Why not?’ But, you know,” he shrugs his shoulders, “if I overstepped my boundaries, then that’s fine, but I can’t read minds. Everything would be cool if you’d have answered.”
All the frustration that had built up inside of Liam begins to melt around his bones. Niall had vouched for him to Zayn, and kept checking in on him through Harry. Now Liam feels like a complete asshole for being so damn selfish about the situation.
“No, no,” Liam stutters, “ I’m sorry. It’s–it’s just been a busy week. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”
Zayn folds his arms across his chest and looks over to the window. The sun has set outside, streets already swallowed by darkness at four. The autumn rain is starting to fall harder against the glass, the occasional drop trying to peck its way inside with a muted crrrack. Liam likes seeing the hazy glow of the street lamps filter through raindrops. It’s soothing, up until he pulls his eyes away from it and looks back at Zayn who’s still shielded behind his own arms.
“So you had a good time?” Liam pipes up.
“I did.” Zayn keeps his arms crossed over his chest and lifts his chin a bit higher. “I had fun.”
“God, it’s just–what happened after– I– it’s so fucking embarrasing. I’ve never done that before.”
“I know,” Zayn scratches his hand at the back of his neck and bites his lip. Liam does the same, watching Zayn’s lashes flutter closed and erupt in laughter. “I can tell you’re embarrassed. On the other hand, it’s funny ‘cause I’ve been there before.”
Liam’s wide-eyed, can’t even imagine something like that happening to anyone as cool as Zayn. “Oh.”
Zayn leans over to the table, eyes glancing around the room before going level with Liam’s. His forehead is dangerously close to Liam’s face, and Liam wants to count every eyelash.
“Yeah,” Zayn whispers, “between you and me, I didn’t have a toilet nearby after, either.”
“Oh, shit,” Liam whinces. “Did he ever call you back?”
“No he didn’t,” Zayn says. “Of course he didn’t. Even after I offered him money for dry cleaning.”
“That was nice of you.”
Zayn smiles and ducks his head down to lick at his lips.
“So…” Liam waits until Zayn is looking up at him again. He feels his heart flutter in his chest, just a tad bit faster than he remembers it doing the first time he saw Zayn. “Guess we can be equally embarrassed now.”
“Or you don’t have to feel embarrassed at all,” he winks and leans in closer, close enough for Liam to smell the cigarettes and spearmint on his breath. “I promise I’m not judging you for what happened that night.”
Liam starts to feel dizzy counting the flecks of gold in Zayn’s eyes. He already wants to kiss him.
Liam’s phone buzzes next to his hand, and he tears his gaze away from Zayn. He grabs it and lets out a resentful sigh to read a new text from Harry:
Guess I left my debit card at home so I walked back
“What a jerk,” Liam laughs at his phone and looks up at Zayn. He hasn’t moved, in fact he’s inched a little closer and it makes Liam’s stomach flip. “Harry had to go back home for something, so I actually have to take that pie to-go.”
Zayn pushes himself up from the edge of the table and brushes his hands down the front of his shirt.
“No problem,” Zayn grins, “I’ll go tell them to box it up for you.”
Liam’s face feels cooler as he misses the heat that was stirring between. He slides out of the booth, slipping into his windbreaker again and taking one last sip of water before walking down the steps to the cash register. He pulls money out from his wallet to hand over as Zayn punches in his bill.
Zayn takes the bills and hands over Liam’s change. “I don’t know if you remember, but are you going to Greg’s this weekend?”
He vaguely recalls Harry talking about a party at Greg’s this weekend on the bus earlier.
“Maybe,” Liam says. “If I get over myself.”
Zayn laughs, then gives Liam a wink, “Call me when you do.”