"Nice alpaca, Louis."
Louis glares at Harry and covers his picture. "It's a dog," he hisses. "Asshole."
Zayn's pencil brushes over the page, shading more than creating rough, sharp edges. The class is, just as he'd wanted, fun. It's not exactly challenging for him, the way it is for, say, Louis, but it's still enjoyable. And it's only for an hour and a half twice a week, which isn't fucking with his schedule as much as he'd worried it would. Plus, he gets to spend the whole time at a table with Louis and Harry, laughing at Louis' failed attempts at drawing, encouraging Harry's hesitant but fairly talented works. Trying to ignore the fact that Liam's sitting right beside him.
Liam is as hopeless as Louis. He'd looked completely lost through the original instructions and the demo. He'd looked lost when the art student that was assigned to help them with this part of the class tried to help him. He's possibly worse than Louis, actually, but where Louis gets annoyed and snappish, Liam gets... pouty and frustrated.
"This is so stupid," Liam mutters.
Zayn sneers at him. "Just because you're not good at it doesn't make it stupid."
"Easy for you to say," Liam grumbles. "I can actually tell what yours is supposed to be. I'm helpless."
It's true. One hundred percent true. Even the instructor had attempted to help Liam before making a face and wandering off when she realized there was no helping him. Whatever he's drawing right now, it looks like a sort of lopsided blob with a nose. Or he thinks that's a nose. It could very well be a penis.
"I agree with Liam," Louis decides. He puts down his pencil. "Drawing is stupid. I can't wait until Monday when we start sculpting."
"It's not completely stupid," Harry argues. "I mean, not completely, right?"
Louis grabs Harry's picture from him, holding it up to his face. "Okay, not completely," he relents. "But that's because you're talented. Really talented, Harry. We're hanging this up in the room, in fact. Maybe we'll put it on the door next to the whiteboard, for everyone to appreciate."
Harry beams. Zayn looks at the picture, opens his mouth, and Louis kicks him under the table before he can say anything. Not that Zayn would say something bad. It's not a bad drawing at all. It's fairly good, for someone who walked in here with no knowledge of what they were doing. But it's not exactly good enough to warrant Louis' reaction to it.
Liam makes an annoyed sound and scratches his pencil harshly across his paper, scribbling out the practise drawings they'd been instructed to work on.
"Stop thinking so much," Zayn finds himself saying to Liam. "You're trying so hard to be perfect at it, but that's not going to just happen."
Liam looks up at him, lips parted. He shakes his head and the look disappears. "I'm terrible at it, and I'm sure you know and you're just waiting for the right time to laugh at me about it."
Why does that make him feel bad? "You are terrible," Zayn admits, and Liam's eyes narrow. "No worse than Louis, though."
"Rude," Louis says from across the table. "Factual, but rude."
That doesn't seem to help Liam, who drops his pencil onto the table. "It's humiliating," he says. "I'm not just bad, it's -"
Zayn grabs a new piece of paper and shoves it at him. "So start over." Liam gingerly takes the paper from him. "Did you honestly think you could just, like, pick up a pencil and magically be perfect at it?"
"Maybe," Liam admits. "If I'm not good at it the first time around, I probably won't ever be. I'm shit at learning things."
Zayn snorts before he can stop himself. "That's not surprising at all."
Zayn is busy focusing on his drawing of a bird (trying to replicate Harry's chest piece on his paper) to see the look on Liam's face, but he doesn't miss Liam's low, annoyed, "Right. This is just another thing that makes you better than me."
Finally Zayn looks up, but Liam's got his eyes on his own paper now, focusing with his eyebrows drawn and his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. Zayn isn't sure how to reply to that comment, so he doesn't. He goes back to drawing, Liam continues to work on his own, and Louis keeps praising Harry while making lame attempts at creating something on his own page.
Eventually the instructor comes back around. She smiles pleasantly at Harry, wrinkles her forehead at Louis' 'dog' that honestly does look more like an alpaca than anything, and then compliments Zayn's birds before moving on to Liam.
Liam, who's had his picture covered for the last twenty minutes, arm blocking Zayn from being able to see. Now, the instructor picks it up, and Liam's eyes stay on the table as she looks it over before flicking her gaze to Zayn. "The shape of his face is fairly accurate," she says. "The stubble along his jaw is a little heavy, but that's very hard to do. With a bit more practise, this could be great."
Liam goes bright red, taking the picture back from her before stuffing it hastily into his pocket. When she walks off, he pushes away from the table and heads for the door, Zayn staring after him.
"What did I miss?" Louis asks, looking between Zayn and the door.
Harry keeps drawing, but he says with a grin on his face, "Liam was secretly drawing Zayn and he didn't want anyone to know, but Malerie called him out on it and now he's stomped off because he's embarrassed." His tongue sticks out between his teeth, eyes scanning his own paper. "Do you really think this is good?"
"It's wonderful," Louis says automatically, but his eyes are on Zayn, the look on his face one Zayn doesn't fully understand.
"That's not what he's upset about," Zayn mumbles. "And he's wasn't drawing me. He's just pissy because he has a game coming up. That's how he always gets."
"Speaking of which," Louis says. "You're coming to that game with us."
"No, I'm not," Zayn says. "You know that I don't-"
"Look." Louis splays his hands flat on the table and gives Zayn this look, one that says not to argue. "He joined this stupid class for you, the least you could do is attend one of his games."
Zayn's mouth falls open. "He didn't join this class for me!" he protests.
"Please keep it down in the back," comes from the front of the room.
Zayn flushes red and lowers his voice, hissing, "He joined it to piss me off, that's all," while glaring at Louis.
"Same difference," Louis says. "Go to his game to piss him off, then. But you're going."
"I have homework," Zayn argues. "I don't have time."
"You can take a few hours out of your time at the library," Louis says, an air of finality in his words that says that Zayn will seriously regret arguing this. And that he'll drag Zayn to the game anyway, even if he doesn't want to go.
"Fine," Zayn snaps. "But I'm bringing my book with me. I'll read while you guys watch."
"Deal," Louis says happily.
"Maybe I'll drop out of school and become a street artist," Harry says, as if he hadn't heard a word of that argument. Louis and Zayn both snort at him.
~|~
One of the only days that Liam actually wakes up in the morning when Zayn does is game days. Every other day of the week, he grumbles about Zayn's "stupid fucking alarm" and tends to sleep in. Saturday is no exception to this rule, because Zayn hits his alarm, rolls over, and Liam's already out of bed, doing sit-ups.
"That's kinda hot," Zayn mumbles, mind too foggy with sleep to stop himself. He rubs at his eyes and stretches. "How are you even doing that right now?"
"Have to- keep myself- awake," Liam grunts.
Zayn blinks at him, taking in the slightly manic look on his face, hidden under the red flushed, sweat covered cheeks. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"No," Liam says through panting breaths. "Too busy- freaking out."
"Over the game," Zayn says, just to clarify. He doesn't mean to sound judgemental about it, but it's kind of habitual, at this point. Liam makes fun of Zayn for doing his work and going to the library, Zayn makes fun of Liam for not doing his work and putting all of his focus into a stupid game.
"You wouldn't- understand, obviously." Liam glowers at him when he comes back up. Before Zayn can return the look, he lowers himself back down to the floor.
"Obviously," Zayn sneers. "Whatever. I'm going to take a shower."
"I won't be here when you get back," Liam says, still on the floor.
"I don't remember asking for your schedule," Zayn snips. He gathers his stuff for the shower and heads for the door. "You don't have to tell me every time you leave the room. But I'll see you at the game tonight."
Liam freezes, hands falling to the ground to hold himself up. "You're coming to the game?" he asks, completely emotionless.
Zayn shrugs. "Don't have a choice. Louis is pushy, and he told me I was coming with him."
"Right." Liam nods, expression still unreadable.
Zayn slips out the door, but just before it closes shut behind him, he hears a thud and looks back to see Liam lying flat against the ground, arm thrown over his face as he lets out an exhausted, stress filled groan.
When Zayn gets back to the room, he's in the exact same position, only he's fast asleep. Zayn bites the inside of his lip, considering leaving him like that. He's not Liam's babysitter, okay? But he goes over to Liam anyway and kicks him lightly in the shins. "Liam," he says. "You need to at least get in bed."
Liam's eyes open slowly, lids heavy. He reaches out a hand while yawning without covering his mouth. "Help me up?"
Zayn groans. Seriously? He puts out his hand, and then he's being tugged to the ground. Liam breaks the fall with his body, Zayn landing directly on top of him. He doesn't stay there for long, though, because Liam's turning them over easily, trapping Zayn against the floor. He slides a hand through Zayn's hair, grinning and suddenly wide awake. "You're still wet."
"I just got out of the shower," Zayn says, barely enough air in his lungs. "Now get off me. I have to get to the library. I have this group project to work on, and I can't be late."
Liam rolls his eyes. "Nothing I can do to persuade you not to go?" he asks.
"No," Zayn says with conviction. "Now get off me." He shoves at Liam's shoulders until Liam's weight disappears. He takes a halting breath and gets up, just as Liam grabs his own bag of shower stuff before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind himself. What the fuck caused that?
Whatever. It's not Zayn's problem, whatever it is. He has to hurry to brush his hair and change before running out the door, and he doesn't have time to worry about Liam. Plus, he doesn't worry about Liam in general, whether he has time to or not. Right?
Ugh.
No matter how much rushing he does, somehow he's still late to the group meeting. And somehow that is only the beginning. Since he's late, the others send him off to get coffee, which makes no sense to Zayn because, like, shouldn't someone be filling him in on what he missed instead of making him miss even more? But he doesn't complain because they're right, he should have been there on time like the rest of them.
At the coffee shop the barista screws up one of the orders and he has to go back, and the line is so long that by the time he gets the new drink the others are cold. And then Zayn goes to bring the coffee into the library, but Nancy stops him with a regretful, apologetic, "Remember the rules, Zayn."
"No food or drinks," Zayn deadpans. There's no way the group he was meeting with didn't know that, so what the fuck was the point of them sending him to get the drinks?
With an annoyed sound Zayn steps back outside and texts Lisa, the only person in the group whose number he'd thought to get. She says they forgot about the drink ban, and tells him to just leave the drinks.
About twenty dollars worth of drinks, just left there on the steps outside the library, which is such a waste that it makes his hands curl into fists. And when he gets to the table at the back of the library, they're all chuckling while pretending to work. It makes Zayn want to scream, it really does, but he also feels like crying, for some absurd reason. It's like they've decided that one of them has to be the butt of the joke today, and since Zayn was late, he's it.
But they can't just exclude him from everything, not when the group project is such a big part of their final grade. So when they divvy out things for people to do, Zayn gets stuck with research, but at least they're letting him help. "We'll need that done by tomorrow when we meet up," Jason says. "The research is integral to the rest of the project. Without it, we can't move forward."
Zayn blinks at him. "You've asked me to read three different books," he says quietly. "That's not even possible."
"Make it possible, then."
Zayn opens his mouth, but the four of them give him expectant, challenging looks, like they want him to fail, for some reason. Like they want him to admit he can't do it. And while he has no idea what he did to earn this kind of treatment, he hasn't lived with Liam for months without learning how to school his anger. So he takes calming breaths, scoops up his books and the rest of the stuff he'd brought with him, and nods curtly. "I'll have it done by tomorrow."
He feels like hell when he gets back to the room. All he wants to do is sleep forever, but he can't. He has to start working now, if he wants to ever get this done. And he has to get it done tonight, if only to prove to those pricks that he can.
By the time Louis knocks on his door before bursting into the room, Zayn's head is killing him and his hand is cramped from taking notes. "What do you want?" he croaks. "'m busy."
Louis gives him a very pointed look, raising his eyebrows while he does. It takes Zayn almost a whole minute to notice the paint streaking his cheeks. The shirt he's wearing with the school colours. "The game," Louis adds, in case Zayn is too slow to remember. "The one you agreed to come to."
Zayn rubs a hand over his face. "I can't," he says. "I really, really can't, Lou."
"Why the hell not?" Louis demands. "You've known about it for days!"
"That was before I was swamped with work," Zayn snaps. "I can't. I have to read three fucking books by tomorrow at nine, and I don't even know how I'm going to manage that even if I work non-stop until then. I don't have time to go to a stupid fucking football game."
Louis blinks in surprise. "But you told Liam you'd go," he tries feebly. "He'll be disappointed."
Zayn scoffs. "He'd be happier if I didn't go," he says. "A lot happier. And how did you even know that I told him?"
"None of your business," Louis says with a grin. "Now seriously, put that shit away and get ready. We have, like, five minutes. Harry's saving our seats, and it'll take us time to get to them, and we don't want to miss the beginning."
Why couldn't he have made friends and roomed with someone more like him? He loves Louis, he honestly does, but Louis doesn't get it. Louis slacks almost as much as Liam, most of the time. He doesn't understand that Zayn can't just beg off work and do it later. It's not an option for him. "I'm not going," he says, both exhausted and apologetic. "I really can't."
Maybe it's how stressed he looks, maybe it's how exhausted he sounds, or maybe it's just Louis being a good friend, but the other boy nods slowly at Zayn, already backing out of the room. "It's fine," he says. "If you need anything, text me. And if you change your mind, we'll save you a seat."
"I won't," Zayn says, "but thanks."
Louis shuts the door behind himself, and Zayn rests his face against the open book, letting out a long, drawn out groan of frustration. As soon as that's out of the way, he lifts his head and gets back to work.
The sky outside his small window goes from a bright, cloudless blue to a darkening navy, stars already pricking the sky despite the fact that the sun is still feebly hanging in the air. Zayn finds himself staring out the window for longer than he can really afford to, but then he shakes his head and gets back to work.
Only, the longer he works the angrier he gets. Why does he always have to be the one sacrificing something? Why does he always have to give up something to focus on school and work and everything while everyone else gets to have a good time? How is that fair? And maybe he didn't even want to go to the game. Maybe he doesn't give a flying fuck about it, but it's the principle of the matter, isn't it?
And that train of thought is why Zayn finds himself slipping into an uncomfortable plastic seat, cramped between Louis and some guy that does not look happy to see him there. "You came!" Louis says happily. He slings an arm over Zayn's shoulder. "I knew you would."
"I'm going to be so fucked tomorrow because of this," Zayn admits. "But yeah, I'm here."
Louis pulls him closer, and Harry leans forward in his seat to grin at him and say, "Liam's number seventeen, in case you're wondering."
Zayn's eyes flit over the field. He has no idea what the fuck is happening, honestly, but he spots Liam in the distance, his jersey spread taut over his protective pads, the pants of his uniform hugging him tightly. Zayn hasn't ever actually seen him in full gear before but it's, uh. It's a good look on him, actually. "Why would I care?" he says anyway. "I'm not here for Liam."
"Sure you're not," Louis teases.
"I'm here because you didn't give me much of a choice," Zayn reminds him. "And I was ready to pull my hair out from my work. I needed a break."
Despite those words, he keeps his eyes on Liam the whole game. People cheer, people boo, and Zayn can't tell what makes them do one or the other. All he knows is that Liam's a red and white blur on the field at times, and at one point someone slams hard into him and everyone in the immediate area goes quiet. Zayn stands up, not exactly sure why he does, hands clenched into fists. He doesn't sit back down until Liam's back on his feet.
When the whole team converges near the benches, Liam jogs towards the group and pulls his helmet off. There are so many people in the stands, and there's no way he notices Zayn out of all of them, but he's looking in Zayn's direction, a grin on his face until Niall elbows him in the side.
At some point more than half of the people in the stands erupt in cheers, and Zayn looks around, dazed, about ready to cover his ears from the onslaught of sound. "What the fuck happened?" he yells at Louis.
"We won!"
Maybe attending football games on a regular basis isn't something Zayn's about to do, but even he has to admit that there's something... thrilling about it. He's going to have to look up online later to see what he's missing, to figure out what happened on the field below so that next time (if there's a next time) he'll feel a little more in the loop.
Getting out of the stands isn't exactly fun, though. There are so many people, everyone rushing to get out first. Louis' hands are on his shoulders, but Zayn's still having difficulty moving through the throng of people. Somehow they manage it, though, and Zayn breathes a sigh of relief when he's no longer worried about being trampled.
"So?" Louis asks. "Fun or what?"
Zayn shrugs, lips twitching. He zips his sweater up higher and says, "It's freezing out here."
"What about the game, though?" Harry asks. "Did you like it?"
Again, Zayn shrugs. "I don't really know what happened."
"Neither do I," Harry admits. "I've sat through countless games and I'm still lost."
"I've explained the game to you hundreds of times," Louis says with a frown. "How do you still not get it?"
"It's hard to listen to what you're saying when you talk about things that you like," Harry replies. "You get excited and I'm too busy watching the way you wave your hands or your eyes get all bright; it's cute."
Louis glares at him, and Zayn laughs. "If you think I'm going to forgive you for ignoring me," Louis says, "just because you called me cute, you're sadly mistaken."
"I need to get back to my room," Zayn says, before this can turn into an actual argument. Or before they can do that disgusting thing they do where they tease each other and act like there's no one else in the world but the two of them. "I've got work to do."
"Okay," Louis says, but he's got his eyes on Harry. "I think we're going to go get something to eat. If we get pizza I'll drop a slice off for you later."
"Thanks," Zayn says. "See you."
Louis and Harry barely bother waving him off. They head in the opposite direction, while Zayn heads for his dorm. Just like there always is, people are loud in the halls, celebrating and partying (even though alcohol is banned from the dorms, technically, but that doesn't ever seem to stop anyone). Zayn doesn't let it get to him as he walks down the hall, head ducked. As soon as he gets to his room, he finds his iPod and headphones, and he cranks the volume up so all he can hear is his music before he gets back to work.
Zayn figures it's well into the night when Liam comes home, since he never gets back early on game days, and it feels like he's been working for days on this stupid reading. When he looks at the alarm clock, it's only a little after ten, though. Which is really weird, but Zayn doesn't have the time to wonder why the fuck Liam's here. He doesn't have the time to even acknowledge Liam's presence; so he doesn't.
Until Liam pulls out his headphones while falling onto his bed. Zayn jumps, startled, and glares down at him. "What do you want? Why are you even here?"
Liam yawns. "Tired," he explains. "Need to sleep. Can't party tonight."
"So sleep," Zayn hisses. He goes to put his headphones back in, but Liam reaches for them again. Zayn groans, more to himself than at Liam. "I really don't have time for your shit right now, okay? I'm swamped."
Liam props himself up on his elbow. "With what?" he asks.
"This group project shit," Zayn says. "They piled on the work for me because, I don't know, they all hate me or something. I don't have time to blink right now, let alone talk with you. So if you're going to sleep, do it. But if you're going to stay awake and bug me, I swear I'll kill you."
"Okay, fine." Liam collapses against the bed, like he's actually going to leave Zayn alone. But then he asks, "Did you have fun at the game?"
"What? I- I don't know. I guess." Zayn shakes his head. "Leave me alone."
Just before he gets his headphones back in, he hears a soft, whispered, "I'm happy that you came." He doesn't have time to think about it, though. Doesn't have time to dwell on what that means, why Liam would say it. He gets back to work and forgets all about Liam Payne.
~|~