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“Lou, I promise it’s not him,” Liam sighs before Louis can even not-so-subtlely gesture over to the longer-haired man with the trimmed beard. He was admittedly gorgeous, though.
Still, Liam does a double take, just to make sure. The club had been dark, to be fair.
But–he’d stared at that photo long enough to know that that guy isn’t him.
Every time he allows himself to reach into his wallet and chance a glance at the Polaroid, his memory still transports him back to the moment the light flashed. The endearing way the man had leaned forward just a bit to press a light kiss to Liam’s cheek, his slight bit of stubble tickling his cheek. The Polaroid encapsulated that exact moment, the bright look in both of their eyes, Liam turning slightly red but also grinning from ear to ear.
Now it just hurt to look at the photo, his eyes tracing the other lad’s scrawled signature over and over again: Zayn.
“I told you, it’s pointless, mate,” Liam bemoans, his voice giving off a twinge of sadness that he hadn’t meant to let out.
“No, no, it’s never pointless. New York isn’t that big,” Louis argues hurriedly, voice getting louder as he attempts to fight for the obviously losing side.
He snorts. “That’s like saying, ‘Batman isn’t that rich.’ Have you seen his fucking Batmobile? He’s loaded.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”
“Oh, and you’re not?” Liam retorts, giving him a pointed look.
“Oh no, I definitely am. But at least I don’t try to pretend I’m not.”
Liam ignores him, choosing instead to huff, “It’s been six months, Louis. It’s been so long that at this point it’s really only a matter of time before the Polaroid starts fading.”
“In love time, six months is, like, two seconds,” Louis scoffs with a slight flick of his head.
“’Love time?’ Since when do you talk about ‘love time?’” Liam side eyes him, eyebrows drawn in. “Where is my mate, Louis, and what did you do to him?”
“Shut it,” he grumbles, waving him away. “Besides,” he adds as he whips his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t think they actually fade that fast.”
“Louisss,” Liam whines, not wanting to get in this debate. Wanting to just complain for once without Louis always trying to fix it.
“Yeah,” he pipes up after a moment, sounding smug. “Looks like they last for at least 30 years.” He gives Liam a stern look. “As song as you take care of it. So just stop looking at it and it will last for a while.”
“Okay,” Liam shrugs, figuring it probably wasn’t really the healthiest idea to be looking at it all the time, anyway. Each day after six months passed, it became a bit more weird to even think about the photo. “It’s not like I’m ever going to find him.”
---
Liam probably should have been suspicious when Louis didn’t text him the name of the club, just the address with the words, be there in 20. He also probably should have been suspicious when the block started looking familiar--but he definitely should have been suspicious when Louis was there to greet him at the door, a wolfish grin on his face. “Oh, no, no,” Liam gets out, shaking his head as he finally starts to feel the twinge of regret. “Why do I have the feeling that I made the wrong decision by coming?”
“Nonsense,” Louis blows him off as he pulls him through the entryway. “Now come on.”
It hits him at the edge of the dance floor, the glow from the retro-style lights pooling on a few select tiles.
“Shit, Louis,” Liam whines as the pieces fall into place. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, yes, you should,” Louis insists, arms waving in the air as he talks. “Come on, Li,” he pleads. “You’ll thank me later, I swear.”
Liam huffs, his mind honing in on the way his unruly hair had been sticking up earlier and he’d had to pat it down at least five times to get it to stay, and about how he’d basically thrown his outfit on, figuring it didn’t really matter much as he wasn’t looking to meet anyone, anyway. But mostly, he’s lasered in on how he’d never forgotten where they were when they’d been standing close, Zayn’s hand grazing Liam’s biceps as he leaned closer to whisper something.
One of the advertisers for the club had interrupted Zayn then, asking for a photo as he’d quickly taken a Polaroid for them and a shot on his phone for the club.
Zayn had grabbed the Polaroid from the man, though he hadn’t looked at him. Instead, he kept his eyes on Liam as he reached into his pocket for a pen. He’d scribbled his name onto the photo, giving a quick, “In case we see each other again. Thanks, uhh….” He’d trailed off suddenly, obviously aware he didn’t actually know the lad’s name.
“Liam,” he finished for Zayn, offering a smile as he took the photo from him.
“Liam,” Zayn said quickly, the word somehow sounding utterly beautiful coming from his mouth. “I have to go,” he’d lamented, mouthing I’m sorry with a pout before he disappeared into the crowd.
Niall’s strong pat on the back brings Liam back to the present--rather harshly, might he add. “I know you wanted it to be real and natural,” he interjects as he pushes Liam into a side hug. “But maybe it’s been long enough, yeah?”
As much as Liam hates him for it, he’s right. Nine months isn’t nothing. And even though he’d stayed true to his word and hadn’t looked at the Polaroid since that day in the park, he hadn’t forgotten. In fact, it was quite the contrary.
“What if he…” Liam swallows, almost stopping himself entirely.
Niall’s worried gaze pushes the words forward.
“What if he doesn’t show? I mean, maybe he was from out of town, maybe he’s not much of a partier, maybe--”
Niall cuts him off with a squeeze of his arm and a hurried, “Let’s get a drink in you first and then we’ll talk.”
---
The more drinks Liam has and the more bad puns that Harry keeps slipping into conversation (and then proceeds to giggle for the next five minutes after because it’s funny, Liam; don’t give me that look), the more Liam forgets.
But it still tugs at the back of his mind once in a while, like an annoying, Zayn-shaped mosquito that just keeps coming back to buzz in his ear, no matter how many times he swats it away.
Liam must not be as subtle about his current state of mind as he thinks he is, because at one point, Louis sings, “Liam’s in lurveeee.”
He clutches his hand to his chest, looking a little too close to a middle-aged Southern woman for Liam’s own comfort.
Liam slaps him away. “You brought me here. You did this. Get me another drink, you wanker.”
“I will,” Louis says (quite surprisingly), and he holds to that promise, always quick to bring him a new drink whenever he gets to the bottom of his current one.
So much so that by the time the club shuts down at 2am, Liam’s whining about how clubs close so early in the States. Only it must not come out quite like that, because they all give him a blank stare. “It’s, uhh…” Harry furrows his brow. “‘Turtle-y’? He looks at Louis, frowning. “What does that mean?”
Louis shrugs, muttering something about Liam’s damn drunk talk as he pulls the man towards him. Liam just giggles into his shoulder, seemingly unbothered.
“Come on, Drunky,” Louis huffs as he takes on some of Liam’s weight. “Me and the other six dwarfs gotta get some food in you before you wake up in the morning wanting to absolutely murder me.”
He squints at Liam thoughtfully. “What do you want to eat?”
“‘Ayn,” Liam giggles quickly into his hand. Louis scrunches his nose in disgust. “Didn’t need to know that.” Still, he pats his arm reassuringly. “What else?”
“Pizza,” he slurs, already licking his lips in anticipation.
“You got it, mate. Off we go.” He grunts as they start to exit the club, Liam leaning more heavily than Louis’ small frame can really handle.
Thankfully, Niall’s Irishness has served him and his alcohol well, so he’s sober enough to catch on and slides into Liam’s other side to help.
“Can you lay off the bench press, Liam? Damn,” Niall groans as they steady his weight between the two of them.
“Zaynlikedit,” Liam gets out in one single word, sounding a bit too proud of himself--until he abruptly pouts, muttering something to himself. ”Okay! Pizza time,” Niall cries, all too aware of the sudden shift in Liam’s mood. He swiftly pulls Liam out the door with a tug.
They’re lucky in that refuge is only ten steps away, a couple of buildings down to the left (not that Niall’s surprised--they are in New York, after all. How hard could it really have been to find a pizza place, after all?)
He’s just about ready for the sweet, sweet relief of setting Liam down so he can finally feel his arm again when… Liam trips. He misses the fact that there’s a raised doorway--Niall should have seen that one coming, to be honest--and before he can even blink his face is flying towards the grungy tile at full speed when he’s suddenly saved by arms reaching out to break his fall.
Liam giggles happily, not fully understanding what’s just happened but feeling good about it, anyway. His eyes lift slightly, confusedly, until they pause on a nametag. “Zayn,” Liam hums as he taps the tag a few times, seemingly content until the thinks about that name more. “Dunno many Zayns,” he says matter-of-factly, the words not clicking. “Stupid name.”
“Uhh, Li?” Louis gets out, voice a little shaky with excitement. “Look up.”
“Excuse me?” Zayn asks right after, blinking as he processes Liam’s words.
“It’s you,” Liam cries as he brings his gaze up to Zayn, leaning further into him.
Zayn exhales lightly as he helps Liam to his feet again, looking at him carefully as he does so. A flicker of recognition hits before he asks incredulously, “Liam?” His face lights up at the name, even as he does his best to school his expression into one of indifference--not that Liam would be alert enough to actually pick up on anything like that right now.
“Come on, let’s get you a table,” he laughs as Liam dopily nods, leaning back into Zayn again.
“I was gonna go out for a smoke, but I can have my break here instead.” He says these words more for Liam’s friends than Liam, whose mouth is agape as he unabashedly stares at Zayn.
He gently sets Liam down at the closest table, ushering his friends to sit, too. As he does this, Louis says in a rush, sounding apologetic, “He doesn’t actually think your name is stupid, by the way. He’s just grumpy that you didn’t show up at the club.”
Zayn sits at the edge of the table, laughing good-naturedly as he chances a glance at Liam. Noting the glazed look in his eyes, he sighs, “I’m sure I’ll have to repeat all this later, but I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I usually work here at night.”
Liam seems unfazed by his words, not reacting much at all until Zayn stands. At which point, he pouts at him, utterly adorably. “I’ll be back,” he promises. “I’ll get you all some pizza. On the house.”
---
Liam wakes with a start, legs flailing as he realizes he’s not wearing joggers. He’s searching for his phone a little wildly, groaning when he finds it and lifts it up, bogged down by how many notifications he has. What the fuck did he miss last night?
He remembers bits and pieces: arriving at the club, his flashback to that night with Zayn, and he also has what he think might be a vague memory of falling? Did he faceplant?
He touches his face, feeling around for any sore spots. Finding nothing, he furrows his eyebrows, not understanding any part of the kaleidoscope of memories. Closing his eyes for a brief second, he huffs, afraid of what he might discover on his phone. He hesitantly cracks one eye open, allowing himself another glance at his phone. First thing his eyes catch on are Zayn.
hey it’s zayn, the first message says.
Then, less than a minute later, he’d sent another text. I don’t know if you remember but we met again last night haha
Liam’s legs squirm at this, all too aware of his nakedness and the way his bare skin feels against his sheets.
He gulps. Had he…?
Through his quick scroll, he can tell he also has a message from Niall and Harry, too. And at least a few from Louis. Shit.
He knows he should probably read Louis’ texts before he calls but his head is pounding, his heart racing, and he can’t think beyond that.
Before he can even process what he’s doing, the phone is ringing on the other end. “You’re welcome,” Louis starts and Liam can already hear the smirk in his voice.
“Uhh,” Liam can hardly even get his words out, his thoughts flying past his stream of consciousness, jets nearly colliding every few seconds. “What happened last night?”
Louis pauses for a second. “Do you not remember?” He asks slowly, seemingly trying to piece together whether he can take the shit out of Liam yet or not. “Did you read my texts?”
“No and no. I called you first,” he gets out, his voice a little high-pitched with worry. “I don’t know what to think. I woke up to messages from Zayn and without any trousers.”
Louis can’t stop himself from letting out a roar of a laugh. It goes on for a full few seconds before he quickly reassures Liam, “No, no, mate, nothing happened. God, I hope you’d remember that beauteous occasion, if that ’d happened.” He chuckles to himself, and it only sounds slightly sarcastic. “That was all you. You were so pissed you didn’t want to wear your joggers to bed. I tried to help you get ready, but you weren’t having the trousers.” He can almost see the shrug that Louis gives. “So I let you go without.”
“Oh,” Liam huffs, chagrin washing over him.
“You might want to message your man back now,” Louis says gently, only a slight mocking tone to his voice. “He was pretty worried about your state last night. In the cutest way possible, of course.” He stops, letting out a low noise that sounds like him throwing up. “I can’t believe I just said that unironically. You owe me.”
There’s a moment of silence where Liam thinks Louis’ about to hang up the phone before he quickly adds, “Good luck, mate.” Then the line goes dead.
Liam blinks for a few seconds, looking at his phone thoughtfully. He didn’t even remember meeting Zayn again, so he felt quite ridiculous messaging him. But, of course, that wasn’t going to stop him--not with someone like Zayn.
He figures it’s best just to be honest. From Louis’ comment, it sounds like Zayn had a pretty good idea of just how far gone he was last night.
Liam cringes stomach sloshing around at the thought.
hey zayn, yeah i was pretty far gone haha. sorry, i dont remember meeting you but i definitely remember you from that night at the club
He closes his eyes and presses send, almost afraid to put his phone down in case Zayn messaged back, but also terrified to hold it in his hand in case Zayn messaged back.
He’s still deciding what to do with his phone less than one minute later when the answer is made up for him: Zayn replies.
i thought you might not lol, dont worry. you and your friends came for pizza after the club shut down, and it just so happened to be the place where i work ha
Suddenly, a little spark of the memory of the almost-faceplant seemed to have a little more context to it. Arms grabbing him. Zayn’s arms.
you were very nice to leave out the part where i almost completely fell on my face before id even walked two steps in lol. i do remember that part
Zayn’s reply makes Liam roll his eyes, but his heart flutters all the same.
good thing I was there to catch you ;) been wanting to see you again after we met that one night but i almost always work nights. never saw you around
Little did he know that that was due to Liam’s stubbornness, of him always championing about fate, fate fate, that they hadn’t met sooner. (Though, to be fair, his idea of fate had still worked out to be right, even in this case.) But that was a discussion maybe best told over dinner, after a few dates.
well wanna see me around sometime this weekend? dinner and a movie? i wont drink this time lol
The response is almost immediate, and Liam lets out a little yelp of excitement.
6pm on friday night? ill meet you outside the pizza place--two buildings down from the club haha
Louis will never let him live this down. He’s already sure of that. He’s probably already writing his snarky-but-loving speech for the wedding.
Maybe it’s worth that in the end, though.
it’s a date :) see you then
Nine months later, Liam thinks slightly bitterly.
He stands, ignoring his raging hangover in favor of fishing for his wallet in his casually discarded trousers. Finding it eventually, he pulls out the Polaroid. He sighs, looking at it fondly before he sets it in a folder on his desk. Not able to help it, he unconsciously checks its condition one last time. It took him a whole nine months to find Zayn again… but at least their Polaroid hadn't started fading yet. That had to mean something, right?
He nods his head to himself, deciding it does--it must--before he forces himself to close the folder and move from the desk to the closet so he can prepare his outfit for his upcoming date.