Archive of Our Own

There was something in the way they clicked, really.

At least, that is what they'll tell you and they'll only tell you when you ask and you'll only ask when you notice. But noticing them was impossible because that's how their love was.

It was quiet, subtle and no one in the world had to know about it except them. They were old souls falling in love again and it didn't matter if they couldn't scream it out from the rooftops.

When the band was first formed, Zayn took a lot of time to adjust in. Sure, he had grown up in a packed house with no personal bubble, with his elder sister -Doniya- bursting into his room for a mirror for her makeup when he's just out of the shower naked. He's had Waliyah crawl into his bed for cuddles in the middle of the night because of a stupid nightmare. He's had to babysit Safaa when he could've gone out to illegally drink with a few mates. He's had his mum fussing over him and his father with his overbearingly caring but scrutinizing eyes. Before all that, sharing a room with four complete strangers didn't seem huge.

But it did. They were full-grown lads that he had to be compatible with. He had dealt with woman all his life and men who would crowd into his space soon felt too different to be true.

At first, he doubted himself. Niall (he'd only stopped calling him 'the blonde kid' three days in) was peppy and had happiness to share from the endless supply in his bones. It was easy to be with him. They didn't talk about their lives much and friendship fell into their footsteps like a bed of roses. Harry and Louis were already wrapped around each other (very pun intended) that it felt impossible to even disturb their equilibrium with a third person. It was always a wonder how Harry in the top bunk slid down by morning and claimed a very octopus-y right over Louis. He didn't dare ask though.

Liam didn't feel different, he was always scampering around, always on the edge of his nerves. He didn't like when people didn't pay attention to punctuality, hard work and perseverance. He snapped when they went far with jokes and was polite to everybody. Zayn didn't know what to find in him, except for the fact that his haircut looked like a fluffy helmet. He doesn't question that either, because he's putting four other people's preferences before his, and that was what is right.

"Why are you so quiet?" Liam asks one day. It was film night and everybody was downstairs watching '10 Things I Hate About You' while Zayn was sitting at the edge of his bunk in their cramped up bedroom, listening to the silence and basking in it. He never got it much, but he'd learnt to appreciate it. Before Liam walked in of course. "Nobody's that quiet. I think you're being quiet on purpose."

Zayn gaps at him for a few seconds. "I like the silence", he explains simply.

"Up till an extent, yes," Liam agrees. "But, not all the time. Not so quiet that you want to swallow your own words. Not so quiet you like it alone. Wanting to be alone and wanting it to be quiet are two different things."

They're not so different, he wants to reply. They go hand in hand and they accompany Zayn when he needs them. "Why do you care about me? Since when? You're asking because you're obligated to."

"I am obligated to. Doesn't mean, I don't want to know." Liam confidently plops down a few inches next to him; something that he normally doesn't do.

Zayn hesitates for a moment. "You tell me the reason for your crappy behaviour and I'll tell you the reason for mine."

Liam doesn't answer at first, gazes faraway as he pinches his mouth together with a poorly disguised grimace. The whole time, he doesn't meet eyes with Zayn like he's too bright to look at. "I... I don't know. Pressure is something I've never handled well before. When I went back home two years ago, I was so disappointed in myself. I was so angry. Everybody had turned on their tellies to see me and I had flopped it. School became horrible and they wouldn't let me live it down. I don't want to go through that again. I can't afford to mess up once more. I've taken a chance at the game and people expect me to do better and I can't help but want to please them. I can't help I'm like this, because I don't want to scream at you all or make myself the villain. But everyday when I wake up, the first thing I feel is the fear of rejection. Again."

"I don't think you'll mess up again." Zayn supplies after a comforting silence, continuing when Liam raises his eyebrows to his lap. "I'm very sure you won't mess up, actually. You're working hard. We're working hard. Literally blood and sweat, it'll pay off. You always receive the fruit of your action."

Liam doesn't agree. "Now, tell me about your story. You can't back out now."

Zayn knows that, of course, but opening up to the lad next to him doesn't seem like an impossible task. He'll have to do it at some point and it starts here. "I miss home," he says simply. "I miss my sisters constantly nagging me and my mother mothering me and my father fathering me. It's harder being away from home than I thought it would be. I'm pretty sure Mum has been crying and Baba's stayed up late every night. I feel like they're being taken away from me the more number of days I stay here."

Liam doesn't comfort him like he's supposed to. Instead, he asks. "How is the atmosphere at your house?"

A smile slides onto his face at the mention, melting away his concern in a fraction of a second. "You know we're Pakistani, right? Even my mum has converted to Islam and maybe we're not that devout, but we're still like a typical family. It always smells like cinnamon and spices and there's a stereo next to the kitchen that Mum always plays Bollywood songs on. She's always cooking and dancing to them and sometimes me and Saf would join her and sing as well. Growing up... I had more Bollywood music than English ones. I'd listen to R&B here and there, but Bollywood movies and songs were a huge influence in my childhood. Baba has a million cd's that are all Hindi movies and Mum never fails to make chicken biryani on Sundays. It's so different here... with the fastness that's a contrast to my ethnicity. I miss home. A lot."

The moment he finishes, silence settles over them like a suffocating blanket. Liam didn't know it was a such a big deal to Zayn, but hearing the fondness in his voice and the likeliness of his home, Liam almost felt jealous of how things seemed to be. Zayn was from a wonderful family which seemed to back out of the picture slowly as the cameras came up. He doesn't say any of this though; simply pats Zayn's hand and walks out of the room without catching the other's expression.

---

The months go by in a flurry. December comes with the news of them coming third in the X-Factor, but it doesn't go by without them receiving emails whether they want to sign an contract under Syco. Time runs away with them as they're stuck in a frenzy of writing a new album and vocal coaching and setting tour dates. Before they know it, it's January and they're buying flats of their own in the middle of London with their first advance pay cheques.

Harry and Louis go for a singular flat in Princess Park that surprises nobody and they all know that only one bedroom is being used in it. Liam, Niall and Zayn snatch up their own places in the Matrix Complex. Liam and Zayn live in the same building, only four floors between them, but Niall lived in another block. All of them had a maximum distance of three kilometres, so it didn't matter.

Liam's not one for snooping around, but he grabs hold of Zayn's phone when they're at the latter's flat to set up the furniture. He messages Tricia's number to his own phone. When he's back at the safety of his own flat, he sinks into the sofa, calls the said number and talks. For hours. He doesn't understand why he does when he's met with the odd light in Zayn's mum's voice. But when he says why he called, she cries and thanks him and he thanks the universe in turn.

It's a few days later that Zayn receives a text from Liam. Come upstairs. Asap it says. Assuming that his best mate has tangled his earphones together and is freaking out again, Zayn makes his way up in the lift as lazily as he can. The door is open as if he's being expected, and it makes warmth spread out in his chest. The fact that the door is left for him.

When he pushes it open, a familiar smell waves towards his twitching nose. It makes his throat clog up and he can't even call out without his voice breaking. "Liam!"

When the latter steps into the room, a grin diffuses onto his face. He beckons him in. "Today's a Sunday, isn't it? I have something for you. I have a feeling you'll like it." He leads him towards the sofa, makes Zayn take a seat and promises to make it back in a second.

Zayn doesn't understand, but there's something in the air that makes him want to cry, only he can't put his finger on it. He doesn't want to cry, especially in Liam's house. Perhaps, he could walk out before he comes back. Before he can think it over, Liam waltzes back in, two dishes in two palms, covered by cloches. Now, where the hell did he get two cloches?

"Liam, what's going on?" He finds himself asking, confusion creasing his eyebrows.

"We're going to have lunch together," Liam supplies, placing the articles in his hands on the tea table.

Zayn nods hesitantly. "So, where are the other lads?"

"Oh," Colour raises into Liam's cheeks. "Erm, it's only both of us. Only this one time. Trust me, I don't think you'll like it if they were here right now. You won't once we get started." When the other begins to protest, Liam darts forward to push one of the dishes into his hand, tentatively flipping off the cloche.

Steam rises off the plate and the sight of it makes Zayn's eyes well up. "Liam," he chokes out before emotion takes his voice under. It's scalding hot chicken biryani, complete with a mini salad and spoon to one side. The smell floats up and it smells exactly like his mum's. He balances the plate on hand as he wipes at his eyes to stop the tears from cascading down. "I- just- how? Is Mum here? Is she hiding in one of your bedrooms?"

Liam shakes his head. "Wait, there's more." He grasps the remote to the DVD player that's connected to the telly in front of them. As it rolls, a menu of options pops up on the screen with the title of a movie and a few images. There's one of a man and woman dancing in the rain, another of them with another tiny girl in their laps and the basic romantic works. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, it says.

"One of my favourite movies!" Zayn exclaims, almost jumping out his seat. His eyes are twinkling when he involuntarily latches onto Liam's arm. "Liam... how d'you do all this? How did you know?"

Upon being asked, Liam glances down at his lap as his cheeks turn into tomatoes. "Erm. I might've had a Skype date with your mum. She told me what you like. I like, went out a few stores and brought everything and your mum instructed me and Janet -my cook- on how to make biryani. I'm sorry if it isn't the same, but we tried."

Zayn doesn't even taste it to prove a point. "It's perfect. Everything is", he whispers, without missing a beat. After that, with his face still red, Liam plays the movie. Thank goodness for subtitles. Though Liam has a problem flickering his eyes to the words and trying to connect them with the foreign sounds the actors are making, he does a good job out of it.

He's analysed as much; the protagonists are best friends studying in the same university. The principal's daughter- who is a new addition makes the male lead fall for her while the other best friend -who's a woman- falls from him. However, she gets rejected and returns to her hometown, cutting all contacts. Years later, the male lead had married the principal's daughter (Tina, her name is the only one he caught) and had a daughter. Tina had however died, but wrote a letter to her eight year old daughter explaining how Tina herself had come between the blossoming love of the female and male lead. The daughter resolves to get them together and runs away with her grandmother to a summer camp where the female lead was now working. When the leads end up meeting, there's a fair bit of romance and dancing in the rain, but the female lead quickly realises that she has a fiancé back home that she cannot betray. However, she tries to sacrifice this fact, but as the cliché it is; the fiancé doesn't let her and the leads get married in the same place.

By the end of it, Zayn's sniffling and Liam's eyes have become a bit glazed even with the communication problem. Their plates are licked clean and the distance between them doesn't seem so far. "I'm sorry," Zayn gasps out. "I've watched it only a million times and it still gets to me."

"What does the title mean?" Liam asks instead of consoling, because you can't really encourage good vibes after watching a really sappy movie. The title, he remembers was repeated a few times in the movies that he had mouthed it to himself.

"It means 'Something, something happens'," Zayn supplies, not so helpfully. He continues on receiving the other's quizzical look. "I know what you mean, like, everything does happen. But, this means... ugh, how do I explain this to you? See, in the movie, he says -I'm roughly translating- 'When you fall in love, things happens to you. You won't understand'. Something here can refer to butterflies in your stomach or electricity in your veins. Could mean anything. He's just talking about the weird feeling you get."

When Liam looks back up, Zayn's gaze doesn't falter. For some reason, when he looks at Zayn's gratitude in his teary eyes, he feels like things are going to get better. Like, they'll cry everyday, but it'll be alright. The credits rolls up the screen till there's no more, like it's an ending. But to Liam, it all seems like a beginning.

---

Their 'meet ups' increase from then on. Liam continues to add new DVD's to his freshly started collection of Hindi movies in the cabinet under the LCD telly. He proceeds to download a few Bollywood mixes on his phone that ring through the flat whenever Zayn's at his flat (which is most of the time).The older lad doesn't like being alone much, and only goes back to his place to sleep. One day, when they have a leave, Liam hurries downstairs and rings the doorbell. He looks down at the words he's copied down from Google translate.

"Aaj ek thheek din, hai na, Zayn? Kya haal hai?" He manages to stutter out in his horrible accent once the door is opened. He's only looked up 'today's a nice day, isn't it? how are you' and caused himself quite a failure. He feels embarrassed and tells himself he shouldn't have done it while his ears burn scarlet.

Once Zayn processes what he said, he bursts into unstoppable laughter, rolling against the doorframe for a good minute or two. "Oh, my god, Liam. It's accha. Aaj ek accha din hai."

"Shut up," he mutters. "You're only supposed to answer me and not criticise."

"Alright," Zayn huffs out the remnant laughter and his eyes look like their being microwaved by fondness. "Haan, tum sahi ho. Mein thheek hu."

"What did you say?"

"I said that you're right and that I'm fine." He rolls his eyes and pulls Liam inside. "If you want to learn Urdu, I'll teach you. Just please don't harass me with Google translate.

Liam has to keep his head down the entire time to cover the fact that his entire had turned red. "Why Urdu, though?" He ends up asking later. "You love it more than English, and I can never understand why," he says, but Zayn doesn't answer or deny him.

---

Once the Up All Night tour starts, everybody can tell something is up. When there's no concert happening, they're cooped up in either of their rooms, eyes stuck to a laptop screens. It's mostly Liam going over to Zayn's with a pillow. He's taken a new liking to Bollywood movies. There's colours and traditions of India that the both mutually take a liking for. Sure, Liam still watches MARVEL and Spiderman with the rest of the lads around, but watching other things with Zayn even if he didn't like a few, felt intimate.

When they walk into their dressing room, everybody turns to look at them questioningly. Zayn doesn't blush, he never does; he walks straight and jumps into a chair .

Liam is subjected to worse things like Niall saying he's the fifth wheel or Caroline giving him a knowing look. Harry and Louis even stop snogging for enough to stare at him. Zayn's incapable of blushing in his flawless skin, but unfortunately, he can, though.

He ignores it, of course. The lads will always be a bunch of buggers.

Zayn's not any better. He's patient and smiling at Liam all the time that it flusters him. The older lad is known for smoulder and when his pearly whites are out, it's blinding to look at. It's like a supernova that zips through him with a tinge of pleasance. He answers all of Liam's curious questions about arranged marriages and hijabs. He lets Liam dig up a box of old surma and brush it under his eyes, even though it stings. Maybe Liam is little too interested than he's supposed to be.

He stays with Liam for a Skype session with Karen and she can tell something is going on. She's always been able to read him, and it makes his squirm at the camera that in turn makes Zayn pull him closer. She gives him a knowing glance much like everyone else, only brighter. Like she wants to know the reason behind his rosy cheeks. Liam doesn't think he'll able to tell with his own mouth, so purses his lips to refrain from saying anything that's too out of line.

Zayn wakes him up in the middle of the night and asks him to ask the bodyguards the most absurd things- one time, milk and vermicelli and sugar. They make kheer at two in the morning and lick the stickiness of their fingers and burn their tongues slurping it away. If they're not doing that, Liam will ask him to translate songs or movies that they're running over.

He feels like he isn't doing it for Zayn anymore, because the interest in his mind starts building a tower for itself and he brings himself not to mind anymore. Probably because he had invested his sanity in it after he started losing it with the amount of PR stunts all of them had to do.

Harry was made to date a woman twice his age, and Louis scoffed whenever she was around. The team had straight out told that Niall had to be the single one, so that the girls would think they had a chance with him, which was ridiculous. But, he laughed it away with rosy cheeks and claimed he could sleep around the way he wanted to, but his mouth pinched together and they knew he wanted to settle down like every other boy out there. It wasn't better for Zayn, he already got the title of a heartbreaker (Liam completely agreed) in the first few weeks as a band. Liam on the other hand, supposedly dated a dancer who wasn't even close to his type.

He didn't like to think about how bad his smile looked when he was smiling at the blinding cameras, or how awkward it felt to loop an arm around a woman who he didn't want when his heart was back at the hotel, lying next to a black-haired boy's tired frame. He didn't want to think he started reading too much in the kisses Zayn planted on his neck or forehead or cheeks. He didn't want to think about how hot he felt right after.

"You know, Liam," Louis tells him one day. Zayn had climbed off only seconds ago to go see what Niall was doing in the front of the tour-bus. The only proof had been Liam's cheeks, which were glowing beet red. "I know I'm supposedly gay and all, right now, and I can't help but notice you and Zayn."

"What about us?" He ventures to ask.

"My naïve Liam," Louis croons. "I've always thought you were a bit blind. Or I was just very attentive."

"What do you mean?"

"You know there's a difference between how you kiss your friends and family compared to how you kiss someone you're romantically inclined towards," Louis muses with a questioning gaze.

Liam shakes his head, words dislodging from his throat jerkily. "I still don't-"

"Look, I've known you both for almost an year, Liam. We may not be the best of friends yet, but listen to what I have to say. You can resume hating me later," he says. "See... We all like o mess with each other and we know it's platonic. But when he kisses you, it's more delicate. Like... how do I explain something like this to an airhead?"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm just saying that Zayn kisses you the way Harry kisses me," Louis answers nonchalantly. "And don't say I'm wrong. Because I have eyes. And, you want to kiss him too. On the mouth. So badly. At least, you're more subtle."

"W-What? Liam sputters, eyes going wide as his cheeks flush. He'd been doing that for quite a while now, and it wasn't getting old. The reason behind it was mostly Zayn Malik, coincidentally, he tells himself. Because the universe doesn't revolve around a humane perfection (or maybe his does). "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"He looks at you like you're an anomaly, Liam," Louis answers breezily, almost sympathetically. "And, he holds on to you like you'll fly away any time soon. You need to tell him, mate. Both of you are on the edge and you can't tip toe around each other for the rest of your lives just because you feel something you assume you shouldn't. Don't even try to deny it. Maybe not everyone can see it. But, we -Harry, me and Niall- we know you both well, and even after you both being such good actors, we can tell. Trust me, even I felt horrible when I had to admit my feelings about Harry, but I swear, it gets better it always does. Also, you honestly have nothing to worry about, Zayn wants you as much you do, probably more, with him not covering up so easily."

Liam is up from his seat in half a second, he strides forward, shoving Louis further into his seat with snarl and ignores the latter's cry of indignation as he storms out to the front of the bus. All he could sense was that; he was seeing red. He had been for a few weeks now, maybe he has to wake up from the dream he thought he'd been living. With his quivering lashes and shaky exhales and burning eyes, when he goes to sit by the front, Allen doesn't say anything, simply nods in acknowledgement. He feels himself cool down as he watches the road before them disappear beneath them, he watches as they try to catch the horizon, but fail when it turns to smoke in their fists when they think they're close enough. Maybe, dreams were made of wisp. Maybe, Zayn was a dream, and a very wispy one. Maybe.

He feels like crying when he realises that Zayn's world stop being his and started being theirs only a while ago.

---

There's a startling clanging that comes from Zayn's hotel-room door, exactly nine days later. He sits up in his bed, hair splayed across his face, blocking his vision. He manages to brandish a weapon; the table lamp pulled out by the plug. The insight of being a celebrity had caught fear in his chest more times than he could count. The possibility of being shot in the outside felt high.

When the door had creaked open, a dishevelled Liam had come into view that elicited a sigh of relief out of him. He was in a pair of plaid bottoms with the drawstring undone and a grey cotton shirt pulled taut over his torso like it was chiselled into him. His eyes are flickering wildly, panic and amusement simultaneous growing in them, his mouth panting softly. Before he could ask what had him in a frenzy, Liam leaped over and sat right in front of him on the bed.

"Zayn," he breaths out, like it was an answer. "Zayn."

"Liam," he replies, confusion colouring his tone. "What happened? Did something happen? Are the lads okay?"

"Something did, happen," Liam answers gravely. "I don't think I'm okay."

The dark-haired boy furrows his eyebrows, concern flitting in his irises as he checks out the latter's profile. "Why not? Is it your stomach again? Or your throat?"

Liam laughs, the sound bordering hysterical. "I'm in love with you." The words said in simple fashion, send Zayn into a wave of shock. His jaw locks up and his throat parches and his hands freeze in his lap and he's dizzy. He's so dizzy, his head is spinning like a top and it runs through his entire body. He tries to blink, but everything seems slow, his lips part, but no words come out. But, Liam is knocking him out of his reverie quickly. He shakes his shoulder, "Zayn, ask me. Ask me how I know."

"How?" Zayn rasps out once he finds his voice.

"A Hindi song came up on my iPod while I was listening and I didn't bother changing it," Liam says like it's a great epiphany. "And, I waited for a solid minute after that so you could explain the lyrics to me. Later I realised you weren't there."

It's too much to take in. Too much that it makes Zayn's heart roll in his chest like the incontrollable waves of a stormy ocean. He hadn't given it much of a thought, but his conscience nagged him about Liam only more than half the time. He didn't think it was brotherly, or friendly or even romantically. It didn't seem to matter; he wanted to be what Liam wanted him to be. The same Liam who broke into his world and decorated it with company. Liam was a miracle. Liam was his miracle. And in the moment, nothing felt as real as looking into his eyes and seeing the world wrapped in shimmering gold and nothing else seemed as good to be true. If in that very second, Zayn turned into a mass of nothing, if he faded into thin scales that the wind carried away with misery, he wouldn't. He wouldn't. "Liam," he chokes out, one of his numb hands coming to cup the younger's cheek, thumb stretching back to run along a sideburn.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?" Liam looks at him with wide eyes that have too much light that the darkness couldn't resist. Zayn nods. "But, you like that don't you?"

Zayn nods harder, his gaze unmoving. "I love it."

Then, Liam grins like never and scampers out of the room. There's no falling asleep after that, not when there's place for smiling at the ceiling and dreaming of kisses.

---

The next morning, ironically, Zayn doesn't get to kiss Liam.

Contrary to the promise to the he'd given, Liam hadn't let him into proximity the whole day. The second he goes even a bit near, the latters whisks away. Apparently, the boys too notice that they're moving around like mirroring puzzle pieces, because Harry stops ogling at Louis and stares in pity at him, instead. It's embarrassing and Zayn can feel heat come out of his ears, but he clenches his jaw and bears it.

He waits the first day out, seeing Liam not make eye-contact, or giving him clipped answers. There is no asking him translations or foreign music blasting in his room or impending movie dialogues on his laptop or curious questions. The other three look like their plotting something, and he hates that they're unconsciously involving them. He waits another as well. But, by the time it's the end of the second day, the sun's bounced down into the horizon and so has his patience.

By the time Liam comes back to his room, Zayn is sitting on the edge of the bed, bottom lip between his teeth, almost drawing blood. Upon the younger's arrival, he springs up, taking large strides till he reaches him. "You," he snarls in a way, very unlike him. Then, he brings a hand up and slaps Liam across the face.

The sound echoes in the room as does Liam's shock.

It takes him about a minute of fish-mouthing to force the words out of his mouth. "Zayn," he breaths out.

"This is so humiliating!" Zayn screams, another quality he generally does not possess. He's never one to make havoc and trash things. The Zayn that everyone knew channelled his anger into glares and was dangerously calm and composed in those kind of situations. "You cannot come to my room, 'fess up things and promise me something like that! Not all of s want to play games! You cannot leave me hanging just because you don't have the bloody courage! You most definitely cannot raise my hopes the way you want to! Was this your initial plan? Have me on your strings like a puppet! I'm not daft, you blithering idiot! Do you know how insulting that is?! I literally put my heart out in front of you, and I didn't say a thing when you walked away and the next morning...you act like nothing even happened! You wanted me on my toes, didn't you, that's what you wanted, eh? Well, blasting reality check, then! The ball is not in your bloody court! Sod off for all I care!"

At the end of the soliloquy, Zayn's eyes are glowing with fire that Liam hoped would never have to see again. His fist raises to punch Liam in the chest, Liam catches it and continues to peer at him. "I raised your hopes?"

"Oh, certainly not," he replies sardonically. "Of course, you did! Do you even remember what you said that night? You had me melting into a puddle." He pauses, eyes running over the latter calculatedly. "Wait. You assumed I was going to say- you assumed I wasn't going to reciprocate! You prat, you presumptuous clot. You have to communicate! That's how relationships work!"

"Relationships?"

Zayn twists his face in horror, eyes widening comically. "What do you mean? Then, why did you come to me that night? Why am I here?" He staggers backward, arm still gripped in Liam's hand. "God, I am daft. Hai Allah! Meine Kya kiya! I'm so daft, waiting for you to-"

Liam doesn't think, he's sure it doesn't require thinking at all. The arm by his side seizes Zayn's other wrist and pulls him against him, his arms snake out around Zayn's waist and pull him even closer- till their abdomens are flush against each other. "Don't you even think about it, Payne," Zayn warns him breathlessly, their noses brushing, his eyes are no longer the colour of diluted sunlight, but a concentrated black that seemed the right shade of sexy on him. Right. As if Liam is going to listen to him. As if Zayn's going to listen to himself. Just like that, their lips meet hungrily.

Like it's a permission, Zayn hauls his hands up, palms against the latter's face, dragging it even more immediate. "You can't do that," he gasps as he withdraws. "You can't kiss me as an apology. You-" he gets cut off as Liam dips in for another.

 "I'm sorry. I didn't know whether you wanted this," Liam tells him abashedly, when they tear away from each other with burning ears. "I was sort of... drunk in love that night. Can't remember anything except for feeling high."

"You've gone poxy, Liam," Zayn says incredulously. "You are literally the most oblivious man I've ever known. You can't take a blooming hint, is what."

Liam, however, doesn't feel like smiling. They have bigger things to think about and other things to worry about. He didn't want to think what place they'd be the next morning. Whether he was allowed to skip in Zayn's bed. What they had to call each other. If they were even good for each other. The relationship they were going to have, or if it was going to last. If they weren't on the same page, they'd have to negotiate on certain terms, that would leave them in the most awkward of positions. The band had just started, he didn't want to ruin anything. But, the moment he looked at Zayn, the thoughts were just a dull ache, a tiny buzz at the back of his head. "I suppose, we'll have to talk about this?"

"We will," Zayn says around a yawn, hand lacing into his own. His hands were soft, but he could feel the lines on his palms. "But, I'm knackered, so, we'll talk tomorrow. And, with me around, you won't be able to pull anymore rubbish."

When he's lead to the queen size bed, fear crawls up his throat like an old companion, but he swallows it like he always does and slides under the duvet to face Zayn. It takes a few moments for their taut bodies to sink in and relax into the mattress. Soon, Zayn's hand is sneaking towards him and towing their entwined hands between them. Liam finds comfort in looking down at Zayn's thumb hovering over his skin, rather than staring up into a pair of melting eyes.

"You asked me why Urdu, back then, remember?" Zayn whispers to the space between them. "Why I gave more importance to it?" Liam nods minutely as to signify he's listening, but his movements are sluggish. "There's so much more emotion in it, compared to the mere twenty six letters of the alphabet. It expresses things that even English can't."

(When a month later, Zayn whispers Mein Bhi Tum Se Mohabbat Karta Hu into his neck, he repeats it in his head until it's engraved in him and when he finally finds WiFi, he looks it up on Google Translate. He almost cries out of happiness, and even Louis can't spoil his day.)

---

On a crisp wintery day in 2019, Liam walks into the studio, calling out Louis's name. He's gotten accustomed to screaming it after every prank and joke, but out of it, he's gained a good friend that he synchronises in music with.

He's a changed man, of course. He isn't the naïve sixteen year old that auditioned for the X Factor with a trembling heart in his pocket, now he knows how the world work. He knows how cruel it is, and knows how to juggle it in his very fingers to get what he wants. But there are a few things that turned constant from the past. He still loves eating blueberry cheesecake in the middle of the night, he still buys quirky things for his sisters and he still falls into bed with a bad habit of jeans. Then, there's Zayn.

Zayn is a wonderful habit, really. He's always there, either prominent in his eyes, or faded into the background. He's the boy with a coy grin that makes his tongue stick out, and the man with so many tattoos that tell stories that many want to implore. He's a mystery that Liam has never wanted to solve, but is given a key by the enigma himself. He's confusion at it's best and recognition in the main level. Zayn is someone Liam will hold onto even if his palms are sweaty or squeezed blue or burnt or shivering. A wonderful habit.

It hasn't been a walk on cake, either. There's been loads of PR stunts, forgotten betrothals, disappointing timings, unwatched movies, unanswerable questions, shuddering silences, empty songs, estranged fake fiancées, forced appearances, ungovernable distances that it scares Liam sometimes, but he puts it aside for the future.

"Louis!" He calls out again. It's a Sunday, and most of the rooms are empty, and it's blasphemy for his band-mate to phone him and tell him vaguely where to come. He's done a lifetime of shouting at the lad, only in eight years. Bless him.

It's only when he's turning the handle to the door of a recording room, that his eyes bug out of his head. The ground is carpeted blue, leading up to a stool on which a man with boots is seated- a broad grinning Zayn. But, the far right corner, Niall and Harry stand with identical grins. The blonde man has a guitar strapped to him and the curly haired one, a wired microphone. There's a rustling towards the left, which- when Liam looks, Louis is also smiling, hiding something behind his back- like a large cardboard. "What-" he starts to ask.

But, Niall starts strumming his guitar as Harry simultaneously begins to hum. Liam watches them in bewilderment. After a few beats, Zayn opens his mouth to sing, but something unknown comes out. "Dehleez pe, mere dil ki, jo rakhe hain tune kadam," he croons softly. His eyes close, hands gripping harder onto his microphone, lashes fluttering under his eyes. There's a clearing of throat from his left, and Liam jumps to see that Louis was now holding the cardboard upright, big black letters scrawled on it, by the look of it, he has a couple of them. Translation:, it says. You've stepped into the threshold of my heart.

"Tere naam pe, meri zindagi likh di mere humdum."  Louis changes the cardboard to another one. I have written my life in your name, my beloved.

"Aasma mila, zameen ko meri, aadhe aadhe poore hain hum. Tere naam pe, meri zindagi likh di mere humdum." My earth has found it's sky, and we halves put together, are complete. The previous lyric is repeated, but Liam can feel his head reeling, a dry sob clogging up his throat as it parches.

"Haan seekha maine jeena jeena, kaise jeena. Haan seekha maine jeena mere humdum," Zayn sings softly, a smiling coming between his words, but his gaze not once wavering. Harry joins in this time, harmonising along and the backdrop of the guitar is constant. I have learnt to live, how to live, my love, the new cardboard says. "Na seekha kabhi jeena jeena, kaise jeena. Na seekha jeena tere bina humdum." It seems to mean- But, I haven't learnt how to live without you, my love.

Then, Zayn hops off his stool and comes to stand in front of him, so close, their toes are touching. "I still have to woo you like a proper Englishman, don't I?" He quips, reaching into his back pocket, before pulling out a tiny velvet box. The sob that had been choking Liam dislodges itself in an ugly sound. Thankfully, the other lads seemed to have trickled out earlier. "So, Liam Payne. I promised to make an honest man out of you, and here I am, trying to do that because I believe I could be a half decent husband if I tried," He says formally, though the fondness leaking into it spoils it a bit. He looks straight into Liam's eyes like a harpoon is being sliced through him. When he pops open the box, two silver rings with a Batman logo on them instead of a stone sit, neatly tucked into the satin. "I got us both rings, you know? So, it'll be fair, then. You don't have to wear it though, just promise it'll be in your trousers' pocket all the time. And, we don't have to get married right away. It's not necessary, but let's just hitch our last names together. How does that-"

Over all his muddled emotions, Liam manages to clamp a hand over his boyfriend's mouth. "You remarkably idiotic bugger. You already know the answer. You didn't even need to ask. You knew."

"I did," Zayn murmurs against the sweaty palm.

There's a voice hollering from outside the door, brashly, very Niall. "I'm assuming your having celebratory sex in there, lads. I'm popping open the bubbly, I don't care, take your own sweet time!"

As Liam's hand peels away, the both of them burst into laughter and they giggle into each other's mouth like their young again. Maybe they never will grow old. Maybe they were always constant, despite the interference of the measurement of time. When Liam leans forward to whisper the words that play themselves on his tongue, the words he's been practicing for weeks, he knows. "Mein tumse kitna pyaar karta hu, tum nahi jaan paaoge," he says and he knows he'll be tugged into a kiss.

(Spoiler alert: Liam was wrong. It had been more than one. His head had gotten so wonky after the fourth one, he stopped counting.)