electric youth - ziam au

s e v e n t e e n

Two chapters in one night? Whatttt

Honestly my favorite chapter so far... Couldn't wait.

The moving truck doesn't move, and Zayn finds it painfully ironic. It's supposed to move. It's not supposed to sit there, on that fucking driveway, taunting Zayn with its being.

He supposes he likes it there though, since he's been voluntarily walking home the long way past Liam's old apartment just so that maybe he can catch a glimpse of one of Liams things being carried into the truck. It's rare, though, because the poor boy really had nothing to himself, and so far, the only one moment Zayn watched a small box being carried in with Liams scribbled name on the side, he felt something good.

He even once thought that maybe, just maybe, he could pull open that trunk door and nuzzle himself between the boxes that smell like Liam and his parents' booze, taking the truck to wherever Liam is held away at. But then he thinks (not more than a few seconds later) of how long that truck has been on that terrible slate of parking garage, and how he'd most likely pass away waiting.

God, he would do anything to hold Liam again. To kiss him, to feel him head against his chest. He felt something absolutely unexplainable with that boy, and he wanted to feel it again.

It was a Friday, and Harry had called Zayn up on his walk home, asking if he'd like to go out clubbing. Maybe to forget for a little while. Zayn declined as soon as the moving truck was in view, though. He didn't want to forget Liam. He never wanted to forget Liam.

Zayn felt especially sad today, and he would be lying if he didn't say he was inches to tears when his English teacher announced the beginning of the poetry unit. Poetry was Liam to Zayn. Everything was Liam. He was everywhere.

But then, Zayn decided he had to do something other than going home to cry and shake sat in the shower. He walked up the moving truck, his head held high - like Liam always told him to do when he's afraid or sad.

"Excuse me, sir?" Zayn spoke out at one of the movers. He decided that he should be nice to him, considering what he was about to (hopefully) find out.

"Hello, bud. What's up?" The mover answered, placing his coffee down at the counter and leaning against the near wall.

"I was wondering, if it isn't any trouble, you could tell be where this truck is moving these things to?" Zayn fell quiet, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans for some sort of warmth.

"Whatcu' asking for, eh?" The man got closer, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow at Zayn.

"Um, well, you see..." Zayn rubbed the back of his head, "I was, er, am very close to the child of the family. We are uh, he's my boyfriend. His family isn't all that great and when they found out about us they packed up and left. I have no idea where to... They cut me off from him. I love him, sir, and I need him back."

He looked back up at the man, and noticed that his face had softened a bit. His arms were no longer crossed and he looked almost sad for Zayn.

"Oh my, Im sorry..." Zayn nodded in response. "They don't tell me where this stuff goes, son. I just load it on. I wish I could help you. I ready do... I don't know what I would do if my wife were taken from me like that." He breathed heavily, and his big hands scratched his head. "I hope this isn't the way it ends for you two, but listen to me, bud. Walking past here everyday - yes, I'm not blind - is not going to help you heal any quicker, alright?"

Zayn nodded again, and the two shook hands before Zayn thanked him and made his was home.

The next day was Saturday, and Zayn was woken by a banging at his window. He got up slowly, opening it to reveal Harry.