Ziam one shots

Only Place I Call Home

Ao3
By: Scottmcniceass
Summary: Liam works at a coffee shop; Zayn is a homeless street performer who plays just outside the shop. Sometimes Liam brings Zayn coffee and donuts and in exchange Zayn sings for him.

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The first cold day of the year has Liam pulling his sweater in around his neck as he hurries to work. The small coffee shop isn't all that far from his apartment, which is what gives him the nice half hour of down time between his last class and the beginning of his shift. Unlike Louis, who has just enough time to run home, change and run to work, and even then he's late more often than not.

There are already people inside the shop by the time he gets there. There's the afternoon rush, people like him, just about to continue with the rest of their busy, important day, and each one of those people needs caffeine. But it's not the people inside the shop that Liam smiles at. It's the guy out front.

Liam doesn't really know his name, to be honest, but he knows the guy. Knows that he likes black coffee and dipping sugar coated donuts into it and he's got eyes that sometimes are so brown they look endless, and sometimes are so golden it's almost unfathomable as to why they don't glow. He's got a throaty, honest laugh that he rarely lets anyone hear, and his jaw is always covered in stubble that swirls and patterns on his skin like artwork. He's got long, thin fingers and he uses them to pluck the string of a guitar and he has the most lovely voice Liam's ever heard, not that he claims to be a great judge on this or anything.

Oh, and he's homeless. It's not like that part was ever explicitly said out loud, but it's known. He's wearing the same grubby jeans that he's been wearing forever now, ones with holes in the knees and frayed bottoms and stains that will never come out, no matter how many times he washes them. The shirt is new. It's white and fresh looking, but the denim jacket he's wearing over it isn't. It's in as much of a need of a wash as his jeans. He plays here sometimes, just outside the store, guitar case open for money and his voice drifting inside. And he's accidentally fallen asleep there on more than one occasion, drifting off with his guitar in hand, squishing the bag on his back and a sweater piled up under his head like a pillow. Louis shoos him away every time; Liam doesn't.

"Hey," Liam says, pausing just out front the door. "Good afternoon."

The guy blinks up at him, almost as if he'd been asleep, which wouldn't be all that surprising. "Liam," he says slowly.

Liam sucks in a breath and hurries inside. It's like— he knows Liam's name, and he's known it for weeks, but every damn day, every damn shift, Liam stops outside and says hi to him, and all he says is Liam's name back, and every damn time, without fail, Liam flushes and hurries inside instead of doing something. Though he's not exactly sure what to do in this situation.

"No pretty homeless boys," Louis says as soon as Liam's ducking behind the counter and pulling on his apron and the stupid visor that's part of their uniform. "No matter how pretty."

"I wasn't—"

"You were," Louis says firmly. "You have a thing with wanting to help everyone, and that's fine and dandy when you're slipping him stale donuts at the end of the night, but I see the way you look at him, okay? Don't think I don't."

Liam smiles dreamily out the window, watching as passer-by after passer-by actually pauses in the middle of their busy lives to stop and listen to the boy outside the window sing. "He knows my name," Liam says briskly, going back to work. He reaches for a cloth and wipes down the counter, trying to act like that's not as big of a deal as it is. As it is to him anyways, because it shouldn't really be a big deal, should it?

"Only because you go outside in your uniform sometimes," Louis reminds him. "It literally says your name."

Liam blinks down at the nametag on his chest. "Oh." He doesn't know why that matters, why it makes a difference, but it does. "I don't know his name."

Louis groans. "Are you going to do this for the rest of the time we work together?" he demands. "Is this seriously going to be a continuous thing for the rest of our pathetic lives in this establishment?" Before Liam can answer, he's stomping out the door. Liam chews his lip nervously, watching as Louis puts his hands on his hips, half his figure blocked because the guy with the guitar is in front of the window. When Louis comes back in, he says, "His name is Zayn. Get to work, Liam."

Liam gets to work, but later, during his break, he makes himself a coffee and then makes an extra one to go and slips outside, ignoring the sigh Louis gives his back. It's even colder out now, and he wonders if the boy — Zayn, Louis said — is cold.

He looks up when Liam opens the door, and this is as much of a part of his routine as everything, which is why the guy — Zayn Liam reminds himself once more— lifts his hand, waiting for his coffee. Liam passes it to him, and he opens the lid and takes a deep sip, an appreciative moan slipping through his lips. "Thanks, Liam."

"You're welcome... Zayn," Liam says back. He just wants to test how it feels on his tongue, this foreign new word that belongs to someone who's more than a little familiar to him. Almost as familiar as Louis, still behind the counter, only half paying attention to the person he's serving because he's busy watching Liam with a disapproving expression.

"You could have just asked me yourself," Zayn says. "I would have told you."

Liam shrugs. He can't very well admit that the reason he hadn't is because he hadn't felt like he had a right too, and he was too nervous about Zayn shooting him down. He's still nervous, even though there's not really any reason to be. They do this almost every day, but usually there's a lot less conversation. "Where's the fun in that?" Liam jokes. He clears his throat after and adds, "Are you going to sit here and talk to me, or are you going to play?"

Zayn's lips tilt up. It's not his happy smile. That one is all tongue pressed against teeth, nose scrunched. This one is just amused. "Any requests?"

Liam contemplates this for a moment. It's sad that he's sort of memorized which songs Zayn can play and sing, and it's sort of sad that Zayn is aware of this. "The David Guetta one. Without you."

Immediately, Zayn puts down his drink and picks up his guitar. He gets this focused look on his face as he strums the first couple notes, and then he looks up at Liam and the words drift over him, warm and perfect, as they always are. "I can't win, I can't reign, I will never win this game without you...."

The song is done by the time Liam finishes his coffee and his break, and there are bills scattered all about Zayn's guitar case now. When he's done, Zayn leans the guitar beside him and goes back to drinking his coffee, like before, but now he pulls the ratty old bag he's always got on his back towards him, tugging out a notepad and a pen. He completely forgets Liam's presence as he scribbles in it, so Liam goes back inside.

Inside, Louis slaps him on the nose with a rolled up piece of paper and hisses, "No." Liam ignores him.

When his shift is over and he and Louis finish closing down the shop for the night, Liam takes all the extra donuts they're supposed to throw out and piles them into a bag before he slips on his coat. Louis clucks his tongue but doesn't protest when Liam slips out the door and drops them into Zayn's guitar case, and he doesn't say anything when Liam hurries back to lock up.

—

"How many songs do you know?" Liam asks a few days later. His shift doesn't end for another hour, but Maggie never faults him for taking an extra ten minute break. Maybe he shouldn't be outside, bothering Zayn again, but he can't help it.

Zayn lifts his gaze to Liam's eyes, and then drops it to the bag in his hand. "What's in there?"

Liam shrugs and opens the small, brown paper bag. "An apple fritter and a ham sandwich. Maybe."

"Apple fritters are my favourite," Zayn says, like Liam doesn't already know this. "Are you trying to bribe me, Liam?"

"Can I sit?" Liam asks instead of answering.

"You are the one who works here," Zayn reminds him. "And I'm the one loitering. I think you're allowed to sit without asking my permission."

Liam sits. "Anything new?" he asks. "Recent. Or maybe something you've written."

A guarded look slips into Zayn's eyes. "How do you know I write?"

"Just a guess," Liam says with a shrug. "So?"

The first few notes Zayn strums are familiar, and Liam lets out a laugh even before he starts singing. "Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago...." A girl walks by and stops in front of them, but Zayn keeps eye contact with Liam even as she drops money into his case. And then there's a giggling couple who toss in a handful of change. And then an old lady who says, "Too talented to be out here on the street," before she throws in a ten that has Liam's eyes widening, but Zayn is still too busy singing to him. "I knew you were trouble when you walked in...."

Instead of clapping, Liam hands him the bag. Zayn pulls out the donut and bites into it, and Liam stands up and brushes himself off before ducking back inside.

"I think he likes you," Maggie says when he gets back behind the counter.

Liam shakes his head. "He just likes the donuts."

—

Liam's mood is terrible on the day of the first snowfall of the year. He'd had a practise exam earlier in the day (even though exams aren't for weeks) just so everyone could see where they were at and what they'd need to improve to pass the exams. And he'd done horrible. His mind had blanked on everything, though he knows the answers. He does. Or so he thought, anyways.

On top of that, Louis' been bugging him all day about coming to a party later tonight, and while Liam usually doesn't put up much of a fight ( he doesn't like getting shitfaced at least three times a week like most of his friends, but he still enjoys partying on the weekends), he's just not in the mood tonight. As soon as he walks up to the shop, he knows Louis' just going to push and push until Liam agrees. Sometimes working with his best friend is a blessing, but usually it's a curse.

He's just about to push open the doors, wiping a bit of snow out of his hair as he goes, when Zayn calls, "Afternoon, Liam."

Liam pauses. "Hey."

"I've got something new today, if you want to hear it," Zayn says, sitting up a bit straighter. He smiles at Liam, and there's the one with his tongue against his teeth, all bright and inviting. "Well, it's not new, but I just finished working out the proper cords last night, and —"

"I really can't," Liam says, a little clipped. "I've got work."

"Oh." Zayn nods. "Right, sorry."

Liam heads inside before guilt can wash over him. It's just — Louis has a point, for the most part. Liam really can't afford to be sitting outside, getting caught up in Zayn when he's got a life to live. A life that includes working even when he just wants to fall into bed and hibernate until winter and classes are over.

"Did he seriously turn a 50 Cent song into a ballad?" Louis asks.

The door opens as a customer comes in, and with them drifts in, "Girl, you seem to love me now. Would you love me if I was down, and out? Would you still—"

"Apparently," Liam says flatly. "You've got customers."

"Oh, like you're not going to spend your whole break and then some out there making eyes at him and drooling," Louis snaps.

But he doesn't. Instead he heads into the back, collapses into the chair there and takes a nap until Louis finds him and shoves him out of the chair. Liam feels sort of bad about it. It's not like he thinks Zayn relies on the coffee and food every day, since he normally gets enough money from people who stop and listen to him for a moment that he should be able to get something to eat, but Liam's seen only two people stop today. It's too cold and the bitter weather is putting everyone in a bad mood.

At the end of his shift, Liam takes a bit of his tip money and shoves it into the cash register before filling up their travel-sized cup with coffee to carry out along with the donuts. He ignores Louis' judgemental look because, really, what's he supposed to do? It's freezing outside, and Zayn's denim jacket can't be keeping him warm. Not with his hair turning white from flakes of snow that haven't melted yet, not when his cheek are pink and Liam watches his fingers miss a few cords, probably too numb to control properly. Is he really supposed to just stand by and not try to help?

Zayn is packing up his stuff when Liam gets outside. "You look cold," Liam comments, and then he feels like an idiot for it.

Zayn shrugs and looks up at him from where he's kneeling on the ground. "Nothing I won't have to get used to. This is just the beginning."

Liam hands over the coffee, which Zayn takes without question. Then, before he can think it through or stop himself, he blurts, "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" Zayn's eyebrows raise high and his lips purse. "I just. It's cold. I just wanted to make sure you were somewhere warm."

"There it is," Zayn says. He pushes himself up and crosses his arms over his chest. "What do you want from me, Liam?"

Despite the cold outside, there's a fire blazing in Zayn's eyes. Liam stumbles back a step. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Zayn snaps. "What. Do. You. Want from me?"

Liam looks around. The street they're on is mostly empty. It's late enough that almost all of the shops are closed, and they're alone aside from a couple walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street. He can see Louis inside the shop, moving around and finishing cleaning up, though he shoots Liam an annoyed, impatient look every so often. And Liam's so confused. There's a sharp, angry look on Zayn's face, one that he has no idea what he did to put it there. "I really don't know what you're talking about," Liam admits. "But if I did something to offend you—"

"Do you want to fuck me, Liam? Is that it? You give me a bed to sleep in and you think you can crawl into it in the middle of the night and get your fill?" Zayn spits at him. "Poor little homeless boy is so desperate for handouts that he'll get on his knees just because someone was nice to him?"

"No," Liam gasps out, shaking his head. "No, I just thought —"

"You thought wrong," Zayn says with finality. "Okay? I've been dealing with guys like you since I was fifteen, though usually they're a lot older, and admittedly you look like you could get it without having to pay for it, but still. I'm not interested, alright?."

He finishes packing up his stuff, slinging his bags over his shoulder, and then he's hurrying down the street with long, quick strides. Liam stands there in the snow, nose going numb, heart pounding, wondering what just happened. Wondering if that's honestly what Zayn thought of him, that he'd expect something like that.

Eventually Louis drags him inside with a snapped, "What the fuck are you doing?"

A mop is shoved into his hands, and Liam mechanically starts clearing away the mud trampled in by wet shoes. "I offended him," he says softly as he works.

"Him who?" Louis asks absently. He pauses. "Wait, Zayn?" Liam nods and continues working. "How? What did you do?"

Liam winces and sheepishly runs a hand through his hair. "I offered him a place to stay tonight. I mean, it's cold and snowing and I just thought that maybe.... I thought wrong, though, obviously." He pauses, working through that whole conversation in his mind. "He thinks I want in his pants."

Louis snickers. "You do want in his pants."

Liam gapes at him. "I— no, I don't!"

"Uh, yeah. You do."

Liam shakes his head and shoves past Louis. "Not like that. He thinks that I've been — nice to him or whatever because I expect him to sleep with me. That I offered him a place to stay in exchange for him... you know."

Louis slaps his shoulder "You can't be serious. He can't be serious."

"Seemed pretty serious."

They finish cleaning up in silence, Liam too busy fuming over the whole thing to be in any mood to talk, and apparently he's stunned Louis into being quiet for once. Maybe it's a good thing, though, because they've never closed up so fast, since one of them (Louis) usually slacks off or one of them (Louis) slips out early with an excuse, leaving the other to finish.

"That was probably for the best," Louis says while Liam locks up. "I have told you how I feel about you bringing home strays. I know you've got a big heart, but people take advantage of that, babe, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I can take care of myself," Liam mumbles.

Louis rubs his back through his jacket. "I know you can, but I still worry. And anyways, this just gives you an excuse to come out and get totally wasted tonight. Forget all about that jackass and have fun."

Maybe if he hadn't been in such a shit mood today to begin with, he'd agree. As it is... "No, I think I'm just going to go home. I don't really feel up to it."

With a sigh, Louis shakes his head in resignation. "Alright. But don't sulk the whole night, okay? Promise me."

"I promise," Liam says while rolling his eyes.

Louis pats his back once more before continuing in the direction of his apartment, and Liam shoves his keys in his pocket and starts towards his own, ducking his head against the strong wind and the snow that feels like ice slicing against his skin, and he does not worry about Zayn. He doesn't.

—

It's two in the morning. It's two in the morning on the only day he gets to sleep in, and he's going to kill Louis. He's going to stab him and throw the body into the river, and if someone ever finds it, Liam's pretty sure he'd get a medal for it, not a jail sentence.

"What do you want?" Liam hisses into the phone. "Do you know what time it is?"

Louis burps. "I'm a little, tiny, itty bitty bit drunk," he whispers, words slurring almost incoherently. "I need you to— to uh. I can't remember. Oh! My keys. My spare keys. I need you to bring them. To me. Here. Okay, Lili?"

"It's two in the morning," Liam says.

"And I'm locked out!" Louis whines. "Please, Liam. Pretty please. Pretty, pretty, pretty please?"

Liam groans and chances a look out his window. It's still snowing. "I'm going to murder you."

"I love you too," Louis says happily. "See you in a bit."

The bed creaks under his weight as he slips out of it, and it takes him five minutes to find the spare set of keys that Louis had left with him in case of emergency (which was a good idea, apparently, since this is the third time Liam's had to bring them to him). He pulls a beanie onto his head on top of putting on his heavy winter coat, just to be safe, and then he heads out, walking briskly down the empty street, snow dancing gracefully in the light of the streetlamps above him.

Honestly, Liam wants to slap Louis for doing this shit sometimes, but he's also really grateful that Louis always has the mind to call him for help. When he gets to Louis' apartment, he's passed out in the stairwell without a coat on, and his skin is cool to the touch when Liam bends down to shake him awake.

"Carry me," Louis pleads. "Can't walk. Too much tequila."

It doesn't take all that much effort to scoop Louis up into his arms, but getting the apartment door unlocked while still holding him does. Somehow he manages, though, and he tucks Louis into bed before slipping back out, locking the door behind himself. No doubt Louis' keys are somewhere on his person, and tomorrow in the afternoon he'll get a call from a laughing Louis that goes something along the lines of, "They were in my jeans the whole time! Can you believe it?" and yes, Liam can.

He's almost home when he spots a familiar figure halfway down the opposite side of the street. The guitar case gives him away. If it wasn't for that, he could just be another drunk Uni student, stumbling home after an eventful night. Liam sort of wishes it was; he could have kept walking, if that was the case. He could have saved himself what he knows is going to be another uncomfortable conversation, but he can't help it, this is just who he is. He doesn't have a hero complex, he doesn't. He doesn't think he needs to save everyone. But if you know someone needs help, and you can give it to them, and you don't, then what kind of person are you?

"Zayn!" he calls as he jogs down the street. The figure turns, and then it starts walking a little faster. Liam's thanking the heavens that he keeps in shape, but he's still winded by the time he reaches Zayn. The cold air makes it harder to take breaths, and his lungs feel like they're on fire. "Wait."

"Do you know what time it is, Liam?" Zayn asks, not slowing down his pace even though Liam's struggling to keep up. His legs are longer, and they carry him faster.

"Where are you going?" Liam asks instead of answering.

"None of your business."

Liam sighs and grabs his arm. Zayn doesn't even fight him on it. He just stops walking and stands statue-still. "Look," Liam starts, but he doesn't really know what to say after that. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and starts over. "Look, I live, like, two blocks from here. I've got a couch you can stay on. Just for the night, even. And you don't owe me anything. At all. I don't want anything from you. Not money, not — not anything, okay?"

Zayn pulls out of his grip finally. "How do you know I don't already have some place to go?"

Liam raises his eyebrows. "It's two in the morning, it's snowing, and you've got a guitar case on your back. I figure that, if you were going somewhere, you'd already be there."

Arms crossing over his chest, Zayn shifts his feet a bit. "I can have the couch?" he asks.

Liam nods. "If that's what you want. Or you can have my bed—" Zayn's eyes narrow, "— and I can take the couch. It's up to you."

Teeth graze over Zayn's chapped bottom lip, but his arms uncross and he nods slowly. "The couch is fine," he says, and then he starts walking again.

It's sort of awkward, the walk back to Liam's apartment. Zayn doesn't strike up conversation, and Liam is too worried about scaring him off to try to do so himself. It's as he's unlocking his door that he realizes he hasn't cleaned up in a while. It's not that he's messy, really, but he's not exactly the neatest person. He's a single male living in a small space. There are empty take-away containers on the counter, and dirty glasses on the coffee table, and the apartment itself isn't all that great, either. He almost says, "Well, it's better than nothing, right?" as he pushes open the door, but then he realizes how bad that sounds so he stops himself.

Zayn doesn't move from in front of the door after Liam's locked it behind them. "I'll get you blankets and a pillow," Liam says after kicking off his shoes. "Just make yourself at home. There's not much to eat in the fridge, but I think there's a few things you can put in the microwave."

He doesn't get an answer as he moves through the apartment. His linen closet it mostly bare, but thankfully Louis stays over occasionally so he's got a few extra things lying around for when guests come over. When he gets back to the living room, arms full of blankets, Zayn is just standing there. His shoes are off, but he doesn't have any socks on. His arms are once more crossed over his chest, and his cheeks are still red from the cold. He sniffles, just once, and Liam nods towards the bathroom. "There's a clean towel in there, if you want to shower."

"I'm fine."

Nodding, Liam makes a bed on the couch, and then he awkwardly stands there for a moment. "So, uh, like I said. If you need anything, just help yourself. I'll be right through there." He jerks a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. "Okay?'

"Okay."

He shuts his bedroom door behind himself just as Zayn crawls onto the couch, still fully dressed in his jacket and his jeans. Liam undresses, pulls on a pair of track pants, and then he stares up at the ceiling even though it's too dark to see it. He can't hear any noise from the living room, and he wonders if Zayn's already asleep, or if he's doing the same as Liam.

Louis would have a fit if he knew what was going on right now. He'd snap at Liam for it, warn him against it, list a million reasons why this is a bad idea. In his mind, he hears Louis' voice say, "He could be a murderer. Or a rapist. Or he could steal all your stuff. You don't know him, Liam. Don't be so stupid, honestly."

Just like he does when Louis actually talks to him, Liam ignores it.

When he still can't sleep an hour later, he gets up and pulls open his dresser. There's a bag of socks in there, brand new because Liam's sort of got a thing for new socks. He doesn't like to wear dirty ones, or stained ones, so he's always got a new pack. Without hesitation, he pulls out a pair and, quiet as he can, sneaks into the living room. He drops them onto the table, only pausing for a second to look down at Zayn's sleeping figure. His eyelashes are really long, Liam notes, and he looks a lot nicer when he's sleep. It cuts away the sharp edges, makes the shape of his mouth and brow softer. He stops looking before Zayn wakes up and accuses him of something.

—

There is only one day a week that Liam allows himself to sleep in, and that's Saturday. He doesn't have to be up early on Sunday, but he gets up anyways to go for his morning run, and the rest of the week he's busy with classes. But Saturday? Saturday is the one day that he allows himself a break. Allows himself to not get out of bed until it's nearly afternoon, where he doesn't shower and he lounges on the couch eating shitty food all day.

Today he doesn't get that. Today he wakes up at the crack of dawn, despite the fact that he'd barely slept, and there's a reason for it. His front door has always creaked, and the sound of it echoes through his apartment. For a moment, he thinks he's being robbed or something. And then the night comes back to him, and he remembers going out late to bring Louis his keys, and then seeing Zayn on the street, and then bringing him home.

The front door shuts softly, and Liam gets out of bed. He finds all the blankets on the couch folded carefully, piled neatly on top of each other. That's not the only thing. The socks he'd left on the table are gone, but so are the coffee cups that had been there the night before. All it takes it one sweeping look around the apartment to notice the difference. It's clean.

He searches for a note or some explanation for why Zayn ducked out so early, but he doesn't find one. And then, only because Louis' voice is nagging in the back of his mind, he makes sure nothing is missing. Everything is exactly where he'd left it, except for the mess.

Liam lets out a sigh and wonders why Zayn ducked out so early.

—

While the increasingly worse weather puts everyone in a shitty mood, it also puts them in the mood for coffee. Liam's so busy over the next two weeks that he barely has time for anything. He's put on an extra Saturday shift to cover for Leanne, who's taking her pregnancy leave and won't be back for a bit, and Louis is always late when he's stuck trudging through the snow. Still, Zayn is out front every day when he gets there, and every night when he leaves.

That awkwardness that followed them on the walk home that night seems to linger between them, but it doesn't stop Liam from dropping the bag of donuts into Zayn's case every night, and it doesn't stop Zayn from singing to him on his way into the shop. It just stops them from talking. Liam doesn't make much effort to sneak out during his break because he doesn't know what to say, and Zayn is always conveniently in the middle of a song when Liam gets outside.

The first Thursday of December is also the first day in about two weeks that he gets off. He wakes up to his phone alarm going off, but before he can shut it off and get out of bed, the ringtone he has set for Louis goes off loudly, bouncing around the walls of his room, making his head ache. Why did he put that Ke$ha song as the ringtone? He really can't remember why he thought that was a good idea.

Liam presses the talk button, and then he immediately regrets it. "Snow day!" Louis shouts in his ear. "Snow day! Snow day!"

Liam groans and rubs a hand over his face. "How old are you? You sound like a ten year old."

"Fuck off," Louis says without heat. "I'm stuck in my apartment. Like, literally. We can't get the front doors open."

Getting out of bed, Liam stumbles over to his window, shivering at the feeling of his bare feet against the cold floor. He can't see the road; that's what he notices first. Everything is white. It's shocking. They don't really get that much snow here, normally. A few inches during the season, that's about it. They definitely don't get snowstorms, but they've got one now.

The cars on the street below are blanketed, and the snow seems to go up so high that their tires are nearly buried. On top of that, it's still snowing. It's not the pretty, fat flakes that they've been getting for weeks now. It's a frenzy of swirling white that casts a fog on everything, making it hard to see even the other side of the street.

"Classes cancelled?" Liam asks.

"Work, too," Louis says happily. "I called Mark after I found out my classes were cancelled, and he said there's no point in opening the shop today. No one's going to be out in this if they can help it."

Liam sinks back onto his bed and lets out a relieved sigh. It's not that he minds working hard, he doesn't, it's just that it's been a while since he's had an opportunity to just stay in bed, and he hadn't realized until now just how much he needed that. "Great," Liam breathes. "I'm going back to bed."

Louis yawns. "Same. I'll call you later."

"'Kay," Liam mumbles. "Later, Lou."

Normally he can hear the sound of traffic outside his window, but today there's not even that. It's like the snow has actually caged him in, blocked him from the rest of the world, and it's just Liam in the entire universe, all alone in his cozy little apartment, the rest of the world gone for the time being. He revels in it, sinks onto his pillows and pulls his blankets up to his neck and smiles at nothing, for no reason other than the fact that he is blissfully warm and comfortable and he doesn't have to move for hours.

That's all ruined when someone knocks on the door. It's so quiet that he doesn't even register it at first, and when he does he almost thinks that it's someone knocking loudly on the neighbours door. But then the knock comes again, and again, so soft it's almost like the person knocking wants him to not answer.

For the second time that morning, Liam drags himself out of bed, only this time it's far more reluctantly. He doesn't even think about the fact that he's wearing nothing but a ratty old t-shirt and boxers as he unlocks the door, but he figures it's just the guy from the apartment next to him anyways. He borrows stuff sometimes, like sugar and eggs and toilet paper. And aside from Louis, he's pretty much the only one who ever comes to Liam's door.

It's not him. It's Zayn. He's shivering, standing there in Liam's doorway. His clothes are matted with snow, and his body heat isn't melting it as fast as it should be. His nose is red but his lips are blue, and his arm is still raised as if to knock on the door. It takes time for him to lower it, like his body is a creaky, old machine that doesn't have enough oil to function properly. There are ice crystals in his hair, his eyebrows, his lashes. "Can I—?"

Liam pushes his door open wide, taking a step back. "Yeah, you can."

Zayn nods jerkily and steps just inside the door. He crosses his arms around his middle, and he sort of stares down at the floor, eyebrows scrunched together. "I'm dripping," he says regretfully. He blinks up at Liam, apology etched into every line of his face. "I'm dripping on your floor."

Looking down, Liam finds this to be true. "Shit," he mumbles, and then he remembers who he is and he starts frantically moving around. "I'll get you something to change into. And a towel. You need a shower. You look like you've been outside in that for hours and — oh. You probably were. Shit, sorry. You should have come earlier. I should have told you that you could come over. Whenever you need, really, I mean, it's just me here. More than enough room, and you're relatively tiny, and—"

"A shower sounds nice, Liam," Zayn says softly, cutting him off.

Liam slows in his movement and nods. "I'll put a change of clothes in there, and we can put what you're wearing in the wash."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Liam says quickly. "Okay?"

Zayn notes mutely and allows Liam to pull the bags off his shoulders (stiff and frozen) and guide him to the bathroom. Liam's bathroom isn't really big enough for two people, so he sort of gestures to where everything is and then hurries to his room to dig through his drawers. Zayn is thinner than him, and he's not sure if any of his pants are going to fit properly, but that really can't be helped. In the end he settles on an old sweatshirt that's thick and warm and has a hole in the sleeve (because it's soft, too, and it's Liam's favourite, and he sort of wants Zayn to like it) and his tightest pair of sweats.

Liam places them on the sink, and then he steps out of the bathroom. "If you need anything else, just let me know."

"My bag," Zayn croaks. He coughs, clears his throat. "All my stuff's in it. Could you, um, bring it to me? I don't want to soak your floors any more than I already have." For emphasis, he lifts one foot (still in his shoe) and when he drops it back to the ground, it makes a wet squelching sound.

There's a puddle on the floor around the bag, and Liam sincerely hopes that there's nothing in it that could be ruined by the water. He ignores the fact that drops of that water splash onto his floor as he carries it to the bathroom. He'll clean it up once Zayn's in the shower, that's all. It's not a big deal.

After he drops the bag onto the toilet, Zayn licks his lips and frowns heavily at Liam. "Thanks," he says, sounding almost confused.

"No problem," Liam says easily. "Really."

Zayn politely closes the door between them. Liam steps back, staring at the white-painted wood for a moment before he nods to himself and goes about cleaning. It's really not a problem, it isn't, he's just a little surprised. He hadn't expected Zayn to just show up at his door unannounced. He'd been so reluctant to stay with Liam that first time, when Liam had insisted, that it's just a little shocking that he'd willingly come and ask Liam for a place to stay.

By the time Liam's cleaned the floor and stuck a towel underneath the guitar case, leaning against the wall by the door, the sound of the shower running has filled the apartment. Steam seeps under the door, smelling heavily like Old Spice, which is weird because he knows for a fact that he doesn't own anything like that. And then he remembers Zayn saying 'All my stuff's in there' after Liam brought him the bag, and 'stuff' probably included soap.

Liam puts on coffee and tries to find something to do but the apartment is mostly clean, for once, and he doesn't have anywhere to be, and the satellite signal has been knocked out by the storm, so he can't even watch TV. All he can do is sit there, surrounded by the smell of that body wash or whatever it is and the sound of Zayn moving around in his bathroom. Probably naked. Like, without clothes on, totally naked. He's never had a naked boy in that bathroom, other than himself. He feels really guilty about thinking about it, too.

To distract himself, Liam gets up and calls Louis. It takes six rings to answer (Louis' phone never goes to voicemail; his inbox is always full) with a very annoyed, very sleepy, "If someone isn't dying, you shouldn't be calling me right now."

"I'm having a crisis," Liam admits into the phone. "Help."

Louis sighs. "What? Why are you even awake? We have the day off. Be a normal person and go to sleep, Liam, honestly."

"Zayn's in my shower right now," Liam blurts. "Okay? Is that a good enough reason to wake you? I bring you your keys at two in the morning, so you can help me with this."

The surprised gasp that Louis lets out is exactly what Liam expects to hear. "Liam—"

"Don't lecture me," Liam snaps. "He was outside all night, alright? What do you expect me to do? Tell him he can't come in?"

"All night?" Louis asks. "Like, in this weather?"

"Yes."

Louis is quiet for a moment. "You have coffee on? Make sure you get something warm into him. And ask him if he can feel all his appendages. Shit, he could have hypothermia, or frostbite. Do you realize how cold it is out there? Get him blankets, too. Not your shitty guest ones. Warm ones. The ones on your bed."

Sometimes being friends with a nursing student has its perks. "Thanks, Lou."

"Call me if anything's wrong with him," Louis adds. "That idiot should not be sleeping outside in this weather."

"I don't think he does it willingly," Liam points out.

"Yes, well." Louis hangs up on him.

Liam tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pulls the comforter off his bed. He makes a spot for Zayn on the couch, and then he checks the fridge. He really needs to do groceries, but he's got canned stuff, and there's leftover Chinese take-away in the fridge that's only from last night, so it should be fine to eat.

The shower turns off and Liam freezes, expecting Zayn to step out at that very second. He doesn't; ten minutes pass and he's still in the bathroom, and Liam's starting to worry. There's a coffee waiting for him on the table, but it's not even steaming anymore.

Finally the bathroom door opens, and Liam blinks in surprise. He's never seen Zayn fully shaven before, and it throws him off. He's drowning in Liam's clothes, and without the stubble he looks so young. His eyes look impossibly wide, his cheeks look less thin and sharp. His hair is damp and it sort of hangs, limp and inky, dripping onto his shoulders.

Liam clears his throat and pushes away any inappropriate thoughts before they can properly form in his mind. Yes, Zayn is attractive. Possibly the most attractive person Liam's never laid eyes on. But that's not all that important. "How do you feel?" he asks, because that is.

"Better," Zayn admits. He lifts his arms, filled with his wet clothes. "What do I do with these?"

"Oh." Liam jumps up and takes them from him. "I'll put them in the hamper and bring them down to the laundry room. I've been meaning to do my own for a few days now anyways." It's inconvenient, the fact that he doesn't have his own washer and dryer, but they're not allowed to in his building. "There's coffee on the table for you," he adds, shouting from his bedroom as he drops Zayn's wet clothes on top of a pile of his own. "Cable's out, unfortunately."

When Liam gets back to the living room, Zayn's curled up in the blankets, fast asleep. He's sitting up, too, taking up just the end cushion, nothing more, legs tucked underneath him. There's no possible way he's comfortable, but his head is tilted back, his mouth is slack, and Liam can't find it in himself to shake him awake and tell him to get more comfortable.

Their laundry is done and folded by the time Zayn startles awake. He almost rolls off the couch, hands scrambling wildly for what, Liam does not know. His eyes land on Liam, who's just walking out of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and they blink slowly and come into focus. "How long was I out for?" he asks thickly.

"About three hours," Liam answers. "You can go back to bed, if you want."

Zayn sits up, shaking his head. His hair is dried now but it's messy and fluffy from being slept on while still wet. "No. I should go."

"You can if you want," Liam says with a shrug. He doesn't want Zayn to feel like he's stuck here, "but there's not really any point. My phone says the storm isn't going to let up until early morning tomorrow. It's probably best for you to just stay here, unless you have somewhere else to go."

Zayn debates this for a moment. There's such a difference between the boy on Liam's couch and the one who sings for him outside the coffee shop. This Zayn is so — vulnerable looking, yet extremely defensive. He's sitting straight, back tense, and there's no amused smile, or almost cocky amount of confidence, not the way there is when he's singing outside the shop, or even just meeting someone's gaze, like he's daring them to think him less than them.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Zayn admits. "Not tonight, at least."

Liam shrugs. "Cool. I hope you like pizza. I was planning on getting some after."

Zayn groans. "Liam."

"What?"

"You don't have to do this," he says lowly. "You don't need to— to offer me things, make me a bed on your couch, even open your door to me. Let alone try to take care of me. I can take care of myself."

Liam takes a sip of his coffee and sinks down onto the other end of the couch. He sort of wants to argue that, wants to remind Zayn of the state he'd been in when Liam had answered the door to him, because he hadn't seemed taken care of then. But, really, Zayn can take care of himself. Liam knows this. Knows he wouldn't last a day in Zayn's shoes. "I'm going to have to order something for myself anyways," Liam says. "I don't have much to eat here, and I don't really want to walk to the grocery store."

"I've met a lot of people," Zayn tells him, "and not one of them has ever done something for me without wanting something back. So what is it, Liam? What do you want?"

Really, Liam isn't sure if he's exasperated by Zayn's words, or if he feels sick because of them. He doesn't want to think of how many people had to have hurt him to make Zayn think that way about the world. And he doesn't want to have to think about the world giving him a reason to think that way of it. But he knows Zayn isn't going to let it go. Isn't going to believe that Liam really just — can't help but help people. That it's just who he is. So he says, "There is one thing I want."

Zayn stiffens a little, but that guarded look slips away, almost like he finds it easier to deal with people asking him for stuff than people helping him, which is just too disturbing for Liam to dwell on. "What is it?"

"One second." He gets up and retrieves his old iPod touch from his room and then he scrolls through his songs when he sits back down. When he gets to Maroon 5's Won't Go Home Without You, he presses play. Zayn listens silently as the song plays, and then Liam asks, "Do you think you could play it for me?"

—

It becomes a thing. Not a thing that happens all that often, but still. Once or twice a week, Zayn will show up at Liam's door, sometimes shivering from the cold, covered in snow, sometimes dripping in front of his door like he'd been standing in the hall for a while, working up to knocking on the door. And Liam lets him in, Zayn showers and does his laundry, and then Liam gives him songs to play and Zayn will spend the night working out the cords and testing it until he's got it the way he likes, or until he gives up and tells Liam he can't work it out, and instead he just sings along to Liam's iPod to placate him. That's it. Zayn stays, and in turn Liam gets to hear him sing whatever he wants.

"Can I ask you something?" Liam wonders during the holidays, a few days before he's set to go home and visit his parents.

Zayn looks away from the TV and shrugs. Slowly, he's gotten more comfortable. He no longer looks like an imposer in Liam's house, but instead like someone who's wanted there (which he is, Liam's assured him so many times), a guest and not a burden. He still tiptoes around and doesn't touch anything, and he always sighs when Liam tries to feed him, but they're making progress. "How about an answer for an answer?"

"Sounds fair," Liam agrees. He nods towards Zayn's guitar case by the front door. Inside it, he knows, is that notebook and a pen. He figures Zayn keeps it in there because sometimes his bag gets wet from melting snow, and he probably doesn't want the pages to get ruined. "What's in the notebook?"

Zayn turns back to the TV. "Songs. I write, sometimes."

Liam thought as much. And sometimes, in the middle of the night when he gets up to go the bathroom, he finds Zayn sitting with his legs crossed and the notebook leaning on one thigh, carefully writing in it, scratching out whole lines sometimes. Every time he notices Liam, he shuts it and puts it away, so Liam's never asked to confirm his suspicions.

"Will you play them for me, one day?" Liam asks.

"That counts as another question, so I get two, too," Zayn says. "But maybe, when they're done. They're not ready to be heard yet." He gives Liam a considering look. "How do you make enough to afford this place and take care of yourself without struggling while working at the coffee shop?"

Of all the questions he could have asked, that's probably the easier to answer. "My parents agreed to pay half as long as I was keeping up with my studies and got a job of my own."

"Must be nice," Zayn says. "Okay, my other question. Why are you single? You're attractive, you don't seem insane or have any habits that would make you undatable. And yet you live here all by yourself, and I only ever see you with that guy you work with.'

Liam shifts uncomfortably. The thing is, he's sort of pushed away his crush on Zayn. Or he tried to. After that day where Zayn genuinely thought Liam was only helping him for sex, he realized that ever trying anything would only confirm that thought in Zayn's mind, and he values Zayn's friendship too much to ever have that happen. But the thing is, every time Zayn lets another piece of himself slip out, every time he shares something or laughs or smiles fondly at Liam like he might savour their relationship, too, he falls for Zayn a little more. Compared to Zayn, no one else interests him.

But he can't say that, so he just shrugs and says, "I'm not really into having a relationship right now."

Zayn snorts and Liam looks at him, surprised. "Oh, come on, Liam." Zayn playfully shoves his shoulder. "You're the boyfriend type. There's got to be someone," he teases. And then frowns, straightening up a bit. "Is it Louis? Is that it?"

Liam gapes at him. "What?" He shakes his head. "It's not Louis."

"So there is someone, though," Zayn realizes. There's this look on his face, but it's gone so quickly that Liam is pretty sure that it was only his wishful thinking that imagined it.

"You asked three questions," Liam says, changing the subject. "That means I get another."

Zayn waves a hand. "Ask away."

"Where do you stay when you're not here?"

He didn't really think the question through, and he should have expected the way Zayn sort of shuts down, freezes over, pushes him out. "Places," he says in a clipped tone.

"That wasn't an answer." He knows he shouldn't push it but he can't stop himself.

Zayn sighs and licks his lips. "Mostly, I don't. I mean, I sleep outside. It's just — easier. It's cold as fuck, sure, but I'd rather pass out on a park bench than stay with someone who expects — who expects things that I'm not willing to give. And there's shelters in town, too, but..." He trails off, shuddering. "I won't go back to one. Not after — I just can't. Maybe I'll tell you why one day, but not today. Okay?"

"Have you tried getting a job?" Liam asks. "Getting a place of your own?"

Zayn tugs a hand through his hair and refuses to meet Liam's eyes. "Of course I have, but what do I put on a resume? I'm a dropout without a secured address. I don't have a phone, either. I don't really have many options here." He tilts his head to look at Liam, chin resting on his knees, legs drawn up to his chest. "I get by with what I make singing. And one day I'll more than get by. One day I'll sell out venues all over the country. Maybe the world. Prove to every person that fucked me over that they made the biggest mistake of their lives."

"Don't forget me when you're all famous, Zayn Malik," Liam says. It should sound like he's teasing, or mocking, but he's not. He's dead serious, and he knows that Zayn can do it. That if anyone out there deserves it, it's him.

Fingertips brushing his cheek aren't expected, but they aren't unwelcome, either. A finger hooks under his chin and tilts it up, and Zayn's eyes are just as serious as Liam's words when he says, "Course I won't."

—

Liam goes home for two weeks for Christmas, and he tries not to wonder (see: worry) about Zayn the whole time. Tries not to wonder (worry about) what he's doing. If he's got a place to go. If he has a family to see, or call. If he's going to be sleeping outside again (Liam offered him the apartment for the holidays, but Zayn had adamantly refused), and if he's going to be okay. Mostly he just wonders if Zayn's going to be okay.

As always, his mother is all tight hugs and sweet breath and "Oh I missed you!", while his father is all grunts and slaps on the shoulders and "How's school going, boy?" His sisters pretty much ignore him, as they're prone to do unless they're trying to embarrass him or get him in trouble, and the days lag by slowly with good food and bad conversation.

He calls Louis on Christmas Eve to wish him a happy Birthday, and Louis asks about Zayn (when his opinion on Zayn changed, Liam isn't sure, but he knows that he's not the only one who slips Zayn free coffee and donuts because Zayn admitted that on the days that Liam doesn't work, Louis now picks up the slack for him), and Liam asks about his sisters, and there's a single, gruff, "I miss you" exchanged, but that's about it.

By the time he's on the train heading home, he's cursing the fact that Zayn doesn't have a cellphone. Not that he should be obsessing this much, since Zayn got along just fine before the two of them met, and he'll no doubt continue to get on without Liam in the future, but still. The thing about caring for people is that you worry about them even when it's irrational.

He has two more days off until he has to get back to work (four until he has to get back to class), and he doesn't see Zayn until then. He doesn't stop by, and Liam has no idea where to look for him, or how Zayn would react if he did go looking for him.

He's not out front when Liam starts his shift, but at some point between taking orders and handing over coffees and sugar pastries, Zayn comes in and sits at one of the tables, notebook in front of him, guitar leaning against the table. This is not something that has ever happened before. In all the months that Liam's worked here, and Zayn's sat out front and played his music, he has never stepped a single foot inside the shop.

Liam hands off a coffee to the nearest customer before pulling Maggie aside. "Can you cover for me for five minutes?" he pleads.

Maggie cuts a look to Zayn's table, and she shakes her head but says, "Oh, fine. Don't be too long."

Liam gives her a grateful look before moving out from behind the counter and weaving his way towards Zayn, who doesn't look up from him his notebook. His lips spread into a small smile, though, and he says, "I just need to write something quickly. Sit, babe."

Liam sits. "Where were you?" he asks. "I thought you'd come by when I got home."

"I was busy," Zayn says without looking up still.

"With what?"

"Stuff."

"What did you do during the holiday?"

"Stuff, Liam." Zayn drops the pen onto the table, where it rolls for a moment before stopping. He looks up at Liam, but the look in his eyes isn't one of exasperated annoyance, like the tone in his voice. It's as sunny as the smile on his face had been when Liam first got to him. "Sorry."

Liam shakes his head. "No, I shouldn't have asked so many questions."

Zayn groans at him. "You're too damn nice for your own good," he says. "Ask as many questions as you want. I'm an ass sometimes. Just ignore me."

Liam's eyebrows draw together. "What's up with you? You seem different."

Zayn grins again. "Nothing you need to worry about. I need to go do more stuff, though. Is it cool if I crash at yours again tonight?"

"You know it is," Liam says instantly.

"Yeah." Zayn's smile goes softer, more intimate. "Yeah, I do. I'll see you later."

Before Liam can even process what's going on, Zayn is out the door, bag on his back once more, notepad carefully tucked away.

—

They don't really have a specific time set up. Zayn usually drops by either very early in the morning, or some time in the evening. Tonight, Liam figures he'll be earlier, given the fact that he'd actually made a point of coming into the shop and making sure that it was okay he stayed. He doesn't.

Eight passes, and Liam puts leftover dinner in the fridge. Nine passes, and he's yawning while watching TV. At ten he turns the TV off and makes Zayn's bed on the couch, and by eleven he's asleep in it. The knock on the door doesn't come until just after one, and Liam is grumpy and tired.

"You don't work tomorrow, right?" Zayn asks as he steps over the threshold, already shouldering out of his bags and his jacket.

Liam yawns. "No. I don't. It's late. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Good," Zayn says as he kicks off his shoes. "I'm gonna take a shower, if that's okay."

Liam waves him off. "Food's in the fridge, if you're hungry. Like I said, I'm going to bed."

For a moment, Zayn just stands there, blocking Liam's way through the living room to his own room. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have told you I'd be late, but instead you waited up for me, didn't you?" He grimaces, guilt flooding his expression. "I'm sorry that I'm shit most of the time. I'm sorry that I can't open up and talk to you. And I'm sorry that you do — you do everything for me, and I don't thank you for it enough."

Chest tightening painfully, Liam nods. "It's fine."

"It's really not," Zayn says flatly. "But I'll make it up to you."

It takes a minute for Liam to feel like he can answer that without his words sounding too thick. "Okay."

Zayn grins and moves through the apartment like he belongs there, and Liam thinks he sort of does. As he falls into bed, the sound of the shower starting up is only overpowered by Zayn singing to himself, words barely discernable. He recognizes the lyrics, but he can't remember who originally sings it. "What can a guy like me even really offer? She's perfect as she can be, why should I even bother? She's so high; high above me."

He falls asleep not long after that, the sound of the shower and Zayn's singing lulling him to sleep. Just like earlier, he wakes up again to the sound of someone at the door. Except this time it's his bedroom door, not the one to the apartment, and it's accompanied by a soft, "Liam?"

After blinking sleep out of his eyes, Liam covers his mouth to hide a yawn before stumbling out of bed. Zayn is standing there on the other side of the door, dressed in just a pair of sweatpants. His hair curls at the ends and drips water onto his shoulders, and Liam sort of wants to trace a drop of it when it slides first down his collarbone, and then down his chest. Instead he swallows and asks, "What's up?"

"Can I— can I sleep in here tonight?" Zayn stutters out, eyes wide. He always looks like that after he shaves, though. Young, innocent. He looks harsher with the stubble, not that Liam doesn't like him either way. He doesn't even have a preference, really. Both of them are just Zayn and he likes Zayn.

Liam rubs at his eyes and nods. "Yeah, sure. Just let me get my pillows and I'll—"

Zayn's hands presses against his chest, and he remembers that he's sleeping without a shirt on. His fingers are slippery wet still from the shower, but each one is perfectly warm and distinguishable against Liam's skin. "I meant with you."

Liam is too tired to stop himself from jumping to conclusions. Obviously Zayn's just sick of the couch (it's lumpy, Liam doesn't blame him) but he doesn't want to kick Liam out of his own bed. Silently, Liam nods. He knows he should insist on taking the couch, make Zayn feel more comfortable, but he can't work himself up to do it. Not when he could be selfish for a moment and crawl into bed with the sound of Zayn's soft breathing behind him and the smell of that body wash that clings to his skin overwhelming everything else.

The door closes behind Zayn, and suddenly it's too dark to see. A hand curls around his bicep, and Liam carefully makes his way across the room, guiding Zayn as he goes. It's been a while since he's slept in the same bed as someone else, and it's a little weird at first, the way the bed dips and their legs brush and Zayn's breath catches, but he tries to just go with it, pretend like it's nothing.

"Night, Liam," Zayn whispers.

"Night," Liam mumbles into his pillow.

Honestly, Liam is about done with being woken up an hour later. He feels grouchy now, blood boiling in his veins as Zayn shifts beside him. And then he does it again, and again, and again. Zayn is not a restless sleeper. The guy's passed out on his couch enough times for Liam to know, okay?

"Zayn."

"I can't sleep," Zayn says softly.

"Try harder."

Zayn grunts and shuffles around in the bed a bit more, but thankfully he stops moving finally. For about ten minutes. A leg is thrown over Liam's waist, and a hand curls over him, a thumb brushing over one of his nipples. Hot breath ghosts over his neck, and Zayn asks, "Are you asleep?"

Yeah, that's likely, he thinks. He tries to keep his breathing even and level, but it's not because he's annoyed. "I'm trying."

"Stop trying." This time, it's more than Zayn's breath that touches his skin. "I've been waiting for almost two hours for you to roll over and kiss me. I'm getting impatient."

If it weren't for the hand sliding down his side, Liam would think he was dreaming. As it is, everything feels too real to be anything but. Zayn's hips grind forward just a bit, and he's pulling at Liam's side, trying to get him to roll over.

Fuck if he's going to fight Zayn on this one. It's too dark to see anything, but he feels Zayn's breath mingling with his own when he rolls over. Fingers trace his features and stop at his lips, pressing down on the bottom one. "I don't want to if you feel obligated," Liam forces out. It's so hard to stop himself from reaching out for Zayn in the darkness and touching him in the ways he's been aching to for months.

"I know." Zayn fingers trail down his chest. "That's one of the reasons why I want to. Because you'd never expect that of me, of anyone."

Liam sucks in a breath, asks, "What are the other reasons?" and Zayn lets out a breathless laugh and says, "I'll tell you another time. Right now I'd rather kiss you, if that's okay."

Licking his lips, Liam nods before remembering that it's too dark to see. "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, that'd be okay."

There's a bit of wiggling, of Zayn shifting and closer to him, and then he cups Liam's cheek, thumb pressing against Liam's bottom lip again, and it stays there until it's replaced by Zayn's lips. They're not as roughly chapped as they look; in fact, they're surprisingly soft, moving gently against Liam's, trying to coax his mouth open. Liam allows it without hesitation, and Zayn's tongue boldly pushes into his mouth, tasting of toothpaste and coffee.

It doesn't feel like kissing, the way Zayn's tongue licks against his lips, first, and then brushes against his tongue, curls against the roof of his mouth. It feels like Zayn's trying to steal every breath from his lungs, and it's working. There's heat swimming in Liam's stomach, and the hand curled against his hip, nails digging in just enough to demand acknowledgement, isn't helping.

"Don't ask me how I feel. I'd rather write it on your skin with my lips," Zayn mumbles against him, words whispered almost inaudibly.

"What?" Liam asks, pulling back.

Zayn's fingers tangle in his hair, stopping him from going any father. "Nothing. Just something I need to write down later," he explains, and then they're kissing again, until Zayn's biting along his jaw.

"For a song?" Liam wonders.

Chuckling, Zayn tugs at his hair a bit, not sharp enough to hurt, just sharp enough to steal his attention for a moment. "Yeah," he admits. "For a song."

"What song?" Liam questions. He should shut up and continue kissing Zayn, but this feels weirdly important to him. Zayn's never shared his writing with Liam, has never sung a single line, strummed a single note of something he's written himself. "Will you play it for me?"

"I haven't finished it yet," Zayn admits, hand slipping from Liam's hair to scratch down his back. He arches against Zayn, a surprised little sound slipping between his lips before he can stop it. "And I'll play it for hundreds. Thousands. Maybe even millions, but every time it'll be for you. How about that?"

"Yeah," Liam sighs before searching for Zayn's lips again. He misses, mouth sliding against Zayn's cheek instead until Zayn tilts his head and meets him the rest of the way.

There's a part of him that says they should slow down as Zayn climbs on top of him, a heavy, solid weight that makes Liam feel perfectly warm and painfully turned on. That argues that there will be so many opportunities for this in the future, it's not like they have to rush through it all at once. But there's something so urgent in the way Zayn's hips jerk against his and his fingers claw at Liam's chest and his breath comes out in needy sounding pants, and it makes Liam too desperate for more to protest.

That, and maybe there's another part of him, one that thinks the urgency is warranted. That thinks he should memorize the taste of Zayn's skin while he still has a chance, because it might be his only one.

When Liam's hands slip under the waistband of Zayn's track pants and grab at his ass, Zayn lets out a soft, "Please." And, really, Liam wants to give Zayn everything he needs.

Liam squeezes Zayn's ass for a second, thumb sliding between his cheeks until he starts writhing. He leans up, mouthing at Zayn's neck. "Can you get on your hands and knees for me?"

"Yeah. Anything you want," Zayn groans. He slides off Liam and the blankets are kicked away as he kneels on the bed, resting on his knees and his palms.

Liam takes his time. He brushes his fingertips over Zayn's ribs, traces the length of his spine, mouths at the dimples in his back before finally hooking his fingers into the waistband of his track pants and tugging them down. He can't see (and he thinks about turning on the light, but he'd have to get up to do that and he doesn't want to do) but he can feel the soft tremors going through Zayn when he bites softly at the fleshy part of his ass. "Liam."

In response, Liam hums against his skin and slowly, so slowly that he can feel Zayn tugging at the sheets and squirming under his touch, he makes his way down until his tongue is circling around Zayn's hole. Just as Zayn had whispered to him earlier, Liam uses his tongue to silently say things that he doesn't have the courage to say out loud until Zayn's almost sobbing and pushing back against him, words spilling out of his mouth like he can't stop them. "Please. More, Liam, please. Fuck, fuck me. Please. Please."

He wonders, for a moment, why he gets to see this vulnerable side of Zayn, and if that means anything, but he can't think on it right now. He's too busy pushing a finger in alongside his tongue, and then he's kissing up Zayn's back again and pushing in a second finger, stretching him more, quirking his fingers a bit, searching for that spot. He smirks against Zayn's skin when he finds it, but the sound Zayn lets out has him needing to push down on his own erection, still clothed in his boxers.

Zayn tenses when Liam pushes in a third finger, so he searches blindly around his bedside table until he finds the lube that he sadly hasn't used for anything other than masturbating. (Thankfully Zayn can't see the nearly empty contents and question him on it.) He squeezes a bit onto his fingers and presses them back inside that tight heat while sucking on the back of Zayn's thighs until he relaxes again.

He's got his freehand on Zayn's hip, fingers brushing against the tip of his cock every once in a while, and he's hitting that spot inside of Zayn without any rhythm or pattern, avoiding it for a while and then hitting it over and over until Zayn begs, "Fuck me or make me come. Stop teasing, Li—fuck."

There's a moment of fumbling as Liam slips on the condom and lines himself up with Zayn's entrance, but then Zayn's pushing back against him and Liam's keeping a steadying hand on his hip, careful not to thrust in the way he wants because Zayn's breath is ragged and almost pained. He draws circles against Zayn's hip with his thumb and asks, "You okay?"

All he gets in response is a grunt, for a moment. Zayn clenches around him and pushes back even though Liam's already completely inside him. "Yeah. I just needed a moment." He pushes back again. "Moment's up. Move."

Ridiculously, despite the fact that he's squeezing his eyes closed and begging himself not to come too fast, and sweat's already dripping down his forehead even though they've barely even started, he laughs. "You're impatient, d'you know that?"

"Are impatient and desperate synonymous?" Zayn asks, and Liam pulls out of him and carefully thrusts back in to shut him up. (Not that he doesn't normally love to hear Zayn talk, just right now he's a little preoccupied.)

Zayn doesn't allow him to be careful all that long. Eventually he starts pushing back against Liam and slumps onto his elbows, relaxing even more until Liam gives in, gives him what he wants. But there's a very big difference between fucking someone and having sex with someone and making love to someone. When he lost his virginity (awkward, too short), that was having sex. When he hooked up with that guy during his first year of University, all they did was fuck. But this? This is different, and he's so worried about letting that slip out, about biting down on Zayn's shoulder and mumbling those three words before he should that he squeezes Zayn's hips too tightly and loses his rhythm, a groan tumbling from his lips even though he's biting down hard on his bottom one. Zayn returns the sound shamelessly, moaning and grinding back against Liam's cock.

The sound of them moving together, the taste of Zayn's skin, every little moan he tugs from Zayn's mouth pushes him closer to the edge, and it's not long before his skin is slick with sweat and his stomach muscles are tightening and he has to focus on not coming, only slowing down and wrapping a hand around Zayn.

Zayn's biting down on the pillow when he comes. The sound he makes is muffled and nearly silenced, and he tightens around Liam as he coats his fingers in come. Liam's not sure which one of those things pushes him over the edge (maybe it's a combination of them all), but he slumps against Zayn's back, nails digging into slick flesh as he comes, too.

Afterwards, Liam heads to the bathroom to get something to clean them both up, and when he gets back he finds Zayn fast asleep, which isn't at all surprising. Zayn is the type of person who can fall asleep whenever, however. But once Liam's quickly wiped them both down and tossed the towel away, Zayn's naked body curls up against his, clinging tightly like he's afraid Liam's going to get taken away from him.

—

Every single time, without fail, Liam wakes up on the days that Zayn stays over to the apartment empty, aside for himself. Today is not the exception, though the other side of the bed is still warm and it still smells like sex and Zayn's body wash. He showers and tries not to let it bother him, the fact that Zayn's once again disappeared. Tells himself that it shouldn't make a difference if they had sex or not. It wasn't as if they discussed it beforehand and had come to some kind of agreement, like maybe afterwards Zayn wouldn't leave him wondering what the fuck is going on.

It isn't until after the shower that he realizes Zayn's guitar case is still leaning by the door. There's no note, no explanation, but Liam grins and puts on coffee because Zayn's going to be back, without a doubt. And he is, not ten minutes later. There's a plethora of grocery bags in his hands, and he groans loudly at Liam as soon as he's kicked the door shut.

"You're supposed to be in bed," he says, dropping bags onto the kitchen counter so he can run his hands through snow-covered hair. "How am I supposed to make you breakfast in bed when you're not in bed?"

Liam looks around at all the bags and asks, "Where did you get this?"

Zayn shrugs and starts pulling things out, like coffee cream (Liam always buys milk, it's cheaper) and cheeses and eggs and fresh bread and — "I recently came into a bit of money. And don't you dare tell me I shouldn't be spending it on you. You're not allowed to question gifts, Liam Payne. Understood?"

Liam nods mutely. Zayn knows him too well. This should probably bother him, but really it doesn't. "Should I get back in bed?"

Zayn debates this. "Nah. Bring the bed to the couch instead?"

Liam nods again. "You're not going to burn down my flat, are you?" he asks when Zayn pulls out a frying pan.

Just like at the shop yesterday, Zayn is all smiles. It throws him off, but it's so infectious that he can't even question it. "Possibly. Now go relax."

Later, when he's halfway through his second breakfast burrito, which is all eggs and fried vegetables and gooey, melted cheese, Zayn sits with his feet tucked up and his notebook in his lap, and he watches Liam as he writes. For a moment, Liam allows himself to fantasize about having this every day. To coming home after school to find Zayn writing or napping on the couch or waiting for him with coffee. To falling asleep with thing arms clutching at him.

That fantasy slips away when Zayn says, "So, like, in the near future, if you don't see me often, or at all, don't freak out, okay?"

Liam puts down his plate and frowns. "What?"

"I'm gonna be gone for a bit," Zayn say with a shrug. His eyes are on his notepad, but he's holding his pen too tightly and it's not moving over the page.

"Going where?" Liam asks, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

"Places, hopefully," Zayn says softly. "Just don't worry about it."

Sometimes there are questions that you don't want to ask, but you have to because you need the answer, no matter how much you're dreading it. "Will you come back?"

Zayn looks up at him. For a bit there's just blinking, long eyelashes sweeping down, lids concealing golden brown eyes. "If you'd asked me that months ago, I would have said I have no reason to. But now..." He smiles softly. "Yeah, Liam, I'll be back."

That's it. That's all they talk about it. Liam doesn't ask anymore, and Zayn doesn't offer a single detail. And the rest of the day is spent in the living room, Liam in just a pair of sweatpants (Zayn protests when he goes to put on a shirt), Zayn getting up to make them lunch, and then dinner, and it's nice. Everything tastes good, and Zayn gives him a foot rub that has him aching for a kiss afterwards, and then they share fumbled hand jobs under the covers while watching a movie before Zayn makes the bed and they fall into it.

There are certain things you should cherish in life, and one of those things is sleeping with someone. Not sex, but just sleeping with them. Staying awake until you're yawning and stumbling into bed, and then falling under the blankets with your arms wrapped around each other, sighing contently, bare feet sliding against ankles and the blanket, and arms pulling each other closer. And Liam's happy that he gets this, even if it's the last time.

—

When Zayn said 'near future' he apparently meant 'tomorrow'. He's still there when Liam wakes up, coffee and kisses that taste of toothpaste waiting for him. He goes to class, comes home and Zayn's stuff is gone, but that's not the first time. But when he gets to work that afternoon, Zayn's not out front. He's not greeted by covers of songs that he hates normally but loves when Zayn sings them. And he's not there the next day, either. Or the next. And suddenly it's been a month and Liam hasn't seen or heard from him, and he's glad that he had a bit of warning because he'd be putting up missing persons posters right then if he hadn't.

"I think he's an asshole," Louis says once Liam's stopped pouting and has started to get over the whole thing. Or that's what he told himself he was doing, anyways. "He couldn't have told you where he was going? How long he'd be? Or maybe gotten your number off you so he could let you know he was okay? It's all really selfish, in my opinion."

Liam sighs and ignores him.

"Come on, Liam, he can't just have sex with you and then tell you the next day that he's going to be gone for a bit, and then disappear for an entire fucking month," Louis insists.

Liam glares at him. There are customers watching, but Louis makes a scene almost daily. Now it's Liam's turn, apparently. "What do you want me to say?" Liam snaps. "Do you want me to say that it hurts? That every damn day I wait for him to show up randomly at my doorsteps with his stupid guitar case and a sheepish smile? Or I wait to walk into work and hear him singing to me? It sucks, okay? Are you happy? It fucking sucks and I'm pissed at him but I don't want to be pissed at him because he never promised me anything, and I never should have expected anything, but I did and look where it got me."

"Oh," Louis sighs. "Oh, Liam." He steps forward and wraps Liam tightly in his arms, and Liam clings back at him because it's all he can do, really.

"No more pretty homeless boys," Liam murmurs into Louis' neck. "No matter how pretty."

Louis pulls back and solemnly nods his head. "Wise words to live by, my friend."

—

After that first month, it gets easier. It's not like Zayn was, like, his boyfriend, right? It's not like Liam ever had a chance to get accustomed to the feeling of Zayn in his bed, or the surprisingly soft press of his lips. And after that first month, he stops remembering how the apartment would smell like body wash after Zayn would shower. And then he slowly stops missing stupid things, like a dripping wet Zayn on his doorstep, or requesting the stupidest songs for Zayn to sing, or bringing him bags of donuts after a long shift.

Life goes back to the routine he had before Zayn Malik ever sat down in front of the coffee shop he works at and started strumming his guitar and plucking at Liam's heartstrings while he did it. Work is monotonous but he gets to see Louis, school is hard but he gets the satisfaction of earning an education, his apartment is painfully lonely but he can make a mess and walk around naked and watch whatever he wants while not having to worry about bothering someone else.

By the sixth month he forgets the exact way that Zayn sings, and he's jarringly reminded of it when he hears it on the radio. Let it be known that Louis is horrible to work with when you allow him to touch the radio. He never listens to one station, and he's constantly going over to the system to change it to something else, sometimes mid song. Really, it's just an excuse for him to fuck around with the stereo and push all his work onto someone else.

Liam literally drops the coffee he's making onto the floor. He looks down at the mess he's made, at the creamy brown liquid staining the floor, spreading wide until it's reaching his shoes, the edge of the counter, it doesn't really matter. Louis is staring at him with his lips parted in surprise, his fingers on the dial of the radio but he's not moving it. "Is that—?"

Liam closes his eyes and listens. The words, the melody, none of it's familiar. The voice, though. He'd recognize it singing anything from covers of Bon Jovi to hardcore rap songs turned into ballads to whatever top 40 song Liam requested.

Afterwards, when the final note echoes in his ears, the host of the radio show comes on. "And that was Get Closer by Zayn Malik. The first of what I have a feeling will be many big hits from this up-and-coming artist's new album, out today."

Finally Liam blinks open his eyes, and Louis is looking at him like he's expecting the worst. Like someone preparing for a natural disaster (panicked but resigned because there's nothing you can do about it). Instead of flipping out, or breaking down or anything, Liam smiles softly to himself and goes back to work.

Later, when he doesn't have to worry about anyone judging him, he sneaks into the local record shop and asks the clerk if they carry Zayn Malik's album. The teenager behind the desk sighs at him and points to a rack, and Liam gets weird looks from several teenage girls who are gathered around the shelf, each of them clutching the CD case in their hand. On the very front, there's nothing but a generic backdrop and the word Home and Zayn's name. On the back, there's a list of twelve songs and a picture of Zayn's staring at the camera without a smile on his face. He looks devastatingly beautiful, all sharp features and soft eyes and lips and hair.

When he's home alone, he slips the CD in and lays there on the couch, curled up in the guest blankets, letting the music wash over him. At one point he startles restarts one of the songs, waiting for the lyrics to come again. "Don't ask me how I feel. I'd rather write it on your skin with my lips." Most of the album is deeper, which is surprising, given the type of people who'd been buying it, but there's not all that many love songs. This is one of the only ones, and Liam tries not to jump to conclusions, tries not to relate every word to something that has to do with them, but it's impossible not to when Zayn sings, "Open your door and unlock my heart; I won't tell you how I feel but I'll sing it to you every night while you sleep without me," and "I'd rather slip out every morning than risk telling you how much you mean."

—

It's been almost nine months since Liam's seen him, but suddenly Zayn is everywhere. He turns on his TV, and there's an advert for his album, Zayn's voice ringing through the screen. He walks by shops with posters of him in the window. Louis thrusts his phone in Liam's face, and there's a video of him singing to a beautiful girl about what it's really like to be alone. And Liam is torn. It's like every time he sees Zayn, his chest constricts and it's harder to breathe and he wants to scream because he said he'd be back, but Liam knows he won't, knows that was a promise he made before everything changed and Liam can't even fault him for breaking it. But, at the same time, he is just so, completely happy for Zayn. This is what he always wanted, and Liam is so proud of him for getting it.

Plus, it's not like Liam has any claim on Zayn. No more so than the girls that sing his songs with their headphones plugged in, or who giggle and point at his posters in shops or wear sweaters with his name on it.

Liam is pointedly not thinking about Zayn for the first time in a weeks while moving about behind the counter at the shop, and Louis is leaning against it and flirting shamelessly with a customer while forcing all his workload onto Liam when a man walks in with a bunch of flowers. All he sees is red roses, and everyone is turning to watch the guy as he approaches the counter with them. "I'm looking for a, uh, Liam Payne," he says. "I was told he works here?"

"Um." Liam licks his lips and hands the nearest customer her order. "I'm Liam."

The man with the flowers nods and hands them over. There's no card attached to them, and the delivery man doesn't give an explanation. Louis slides up beside Liam and gawks at the flowers before turning to the delivery man and demanding, "Who sent these?"

The man shrugs. "I don't know. I'm just told to deliver them."

Liam shoves the flowers at Louis. "Bring these in the back. I have customers."

Louis frowns. "Are you sure you don't want to—?"

"I'm sure," Liam says firmly. He turns to the man on the other side of the counter. "Sorry about that. What can I get for you?"

Louis anxiously watches Liam their whole shift, which is really annoying. When the shift is over, and they're cleaning up, Louis sitting on the counter eating stale donuts, Liam sweeping the floors, Louis says, "Your flowers are still in the back. They're quite nice. I counted. Twenty-four red ones, and a single white one in the middle."

"Mhm." Liam doesn't look up from the floor. "That's interesting."

"Who do you think they're from?" Louis wonders.

"I don't know who they're from," Liam says flatly. "And I don't want to talk about it."

Louis' eyes are wide when Liam looks up at him. "Do you think they're from him?"

"No." He grabs the dustpan. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"It'd make sense, wouldn't it?" Louis says, ignoring him. "I mean, he's got the money to fish out and send over two dozen roses for absolutely no reason what-so-ever. And unless you've got a wealthy secret admirer with a thing for dramatics, he's really the only person who makes sense, right? It's got to be Zayn."

"Zayn's not here," Liam says briskly. "He's somewhere else in the country, off promoting his album, and he's not coming back. He's too busy with his life to be sending me flowers. And he hasn't spoken to me in nine months, Louis. They're not from him. They were probably meant for you but someone screwed up the name. Or maybe my mum sent them because she wants to, I don't know, cheer me up or something."

"But—"

"Drop it," Liam pleads. "Just drop it."

Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods slowly. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"It is."

And blessedly, Louis drops it. Until the next day, when instead of flowers, there's a parcel brought for him. This time Liam actually has to move out from behind the counter and sign his name to get it, while half the store watches with interest and Louis smirks knowingly.

Just like the day before, Liam hands the box off to Louis and Louis brings it into the back, but today he's all anxious excitement, tugging at Liam's shirt with questions of, "What do you think it is?" and "Do you think this means he's trying to rekindle your relationship?"

Liam glares at him for it. "We never had a relationship."

This time Louis refuses to let it go, so Liam turns the radio on. They're not allowed to have it too loud, but their boss doesn't mind letting them listen to music while they work. Liam wishes he could put his headphones in and crank his iPod to drown out Louis' voice, but this is the best he can get.

He realizes this is a terrible idea as soon as the show's host says, "And in the studio with us today is none other than Zayn Malik!" Liam goes cold all over, and he's moving towards the radio to turn it down, but Louis beats him to it and turns it up a little louder. "Do you hear that? Outside the studio there's about three hundred screaming girls. How does that feel? This is your life now. Is it hard to adjust to?"

"It's still a little overwhelming," Zayn admits. His voice is scratchy and tiny, but it's unmistakably him. "My fans are really great. I appreciate them a lot."

"So sweet," the host coos. "I have a few of them on the line that want to ask you some questions. Is that okay with you?"

There's a bit of shuffling, and Liam tries to tune it out as he starts making a latte for the woman impatiently tapping her foot on the ground. "Sounds great," Zayn says. "Let's do it."

"Alright, our first caller is Margie. Margie, you're live on the air with Zayn Malik. What do you want to say to him?"

"Oh my god!" a girl shrieks. "I love you so much."

Zayn chuckles. "I love you too, babe."

Louis meets Liam's eyes and rolls his own. Liam keeps listening, though he wishes he could stop. "Do you, like, have a girlfriend?" the girl asks.

Liam turns away from everyone, facing the machine instead because he doesn't even want to know what the expression on his face looks like, and he doesn't want anyone else to see it. "Not currently," Zayn says.

"Hear that girls? He's single," the host says. "On to caller two. Karen, are you there?"

There's nothing but incoherent shrieking for a moment, but finally the girl calms down and says, "Sorry. Sorry. Okay, um. I was just wondering. Your lyrics are, like, really touching, and I was wondering what inspired them."

Zayn sighs. "That's sort of a hard question to answer," he says. "I mean, it depends on the song, really. But most of that album was inspired by my life, and my family, and stuff like that."

"But what about Tell You Someday," the host urges. "Don't you try to tell me your mum inspired that one."

Zayn chuckles weakly. "Okay, no, that one was inspired by someone else."

"Come on, Zayn. You've got to give us something. Don't be so vague!"

"Okay," Zayn relents. "Um. That song was written for someone who means a lot to me. Um. In fact, a majority of this album wouldn't exist if it weren't for hi— for them. Like, my whole life I've wanted to be a singer, and everyone always told me I couldn't do ot. Some people would laugh, or others would be like, 'Well, what are you going to do if it doesn't work out?' and you could tell that they thought I was stupid for every thinking I could make it."

"You showed them," the host says.

"Yeah. I guess," Zayn says. "But, um, this one person. They never did that? I mean, he— they never once said that I couldn't do it. Like, instead of laughing, h—they just said, 'Don't forget me when you're famous' and I think that was the first time someone actually believed in me. And that means a lot, you know? So that song was really just, like, me saying all the things I should have said to them to let them know how much I appreciate that, and then, and just... how much I care about them, I guess."

Liam blinks rapidly. "It sounds like they're very important to you," the host says.

"Yeah. Um. Can we — can we talk about something else?" Zayn asks quietly.

"I'm taking my break," Liam says abruptly. His shoulder bumps against Louis' on his way to the back room, but Louis doesn't try to stop him.

He stays back there for far longer than the time he's allotted for his break. He just can't make himself go back out there and face Louis' questioning looks, or that damn radio, and he's too scatter brained to work at the moment. Later, when he's pushed that whole thing out of his mind, he returns to the front room and gets back to work, and Louis doesn't say anything. He does let his hand linger on Liam's shoulder, and he ruffles Liam's hair more than usual, but that's it.

When he finally gets home that night, the first thing Liam does is grab a knife from the drawer, and then he cuts the tape on the box and pulls open the flaps. The box isn't small, but there's only one thing in it, and it's not very big. The CD case is blank. It's not like the one on his coffee table with Zayn's face on the back, and the track list and the album name. There's nothing but a black slip of paper on each side, and inside the CD itself looks like the kind you'd buy at a store to burn a movie or a mix onto.

A part of him considers not listening to it, but in the end his curiosity gets the best of him and he puts it in.

He recognizes the opening beat, and then Zayn's voice fills the room, accompanied by nothing but his guitar. His actual album has all sorts of background sounds, but this is different. This is Zayn, raw and real and almost as if he's sitting next to Liam on the couch, playing whatever song Liam asks because he's always been indulgent like that. And the next song is another he recognizes, too. And the next. They're all there, every single one Liam asked him to sing at one point in time.

Liam pushes himself up off the couch and checks the box for something. Some kind of address maybe, so he can send something back. Or a card inside, with Zayn's number on it and some kind of explanation. There's nothing like that, though. It's just a cardboard box that held just a single CD case. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing helpful.

And he can't figure out what the hell it means. If it means anything. In the end Liam decides that it doesn't. If it had, Zayn would have given him some way to contact him. Would have left a message, a note, something to explain to Liam exactly what's been going on these last couple months. But he hadn't, and it doesn't mean anything.

—

Liam is in a shitty mood on the day of the first snowfall of the year. Louis called in sick for work, and he was stuck doing half his shift alone until Maggie came in to cover for him. On top of that, he'd forgotten his jacket in one of his classes, and it hadn't been there when he'd got back, which means that he's stuck wearing only his thickest sweater, and the wet snow seems to seep through it on his walk home in the dark.

When he gets back to his apartment, the first thing he does is strip out of his (now damp from melted snow) clothes and throw them in the washer before pulling open his fridge. He really, really needs to start buying substantial food. He pulls open the freezer door, next, and pops a microwavable meal in before throwing on a pair of sweatpants and turning on the TV just to have some kind of sound in the background.

Maybe he needs to go on a date, Liam realizes. It's not that he needs to 'get over' Zayn exactly, but it'd be nice to prove to himself (and Louis) that he's not hung up over a guy that's never coming back for him. And it'd be nice to have someone to share the apartment with. Maybe someone who could cook because eating microwavable Salisbury steak every night is starting to make him sick.

He eyes the roses, petals already dead, lying on his coffee table where he'd left them. Or maybe he doesn't need to go on a date, he rationalizes.

He's just about to move the roses somewhere else, somewhere they won't be catching his attention every five seconds, when someone knocks on the door. With a frown, Liam makes his way through the apartment and pulls open the door. It's a bad habit, not checking the peephole first. Louis has scolded him for it on more than one occasion, claiming that there could be a murderer on the other side and Liam would have no warning because he didn't check the damn peephole first.

It's not a murderer standing in the hallway. It's Zayn. He looks different, but not. More like the Zayn he sees on TV than the one he remembers from outside the shop, or sleeping on his couch. His hair is styled high, and his clothes are much nicer than they used to be, but he's got that same ratty bag on his back, and he smiles sheepishly up at Liam, like he used to, and shuffles his feet awkwardly, like he used to.

"Is it okay if I crash here?" Zayn asks, eyebrows raised.

Liam can't think through the haze of questions that flit through his mind. How is Zayn here? Why is Zayn here? Is he dreaming? Why did he take so long to come back? Why didn't he find a way to call, to let Liam know something? And yet, despite all of those reasonable questions, all that he gets out is, "Yeah."

"I don't really want to sleep on the couch, though," Zayn says as he steps inside the apartment. "If it's okay with you, I'd rather share the bed." Liam nods mutely, not trusting himself to say anything. Zayn sighs. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything," Liam says automatically.

"I owe you everything," Zayn corrects. "Christ, Liam, you just don't get it."

Liam bites his tongue before saying, "Okay."

"And tomorrow," Zayn continues as if he'd never spoken, a hand curling into the front of Liam's shirt, "I'll order us food and tell you all about my trip to London, and recording my album, and missing you every single day and wondering when I'd have time to tell you all about this in person, but right now..." His gaze dips to Liam's mouth. "I sort of need a shower. And a good, long sleep."

"Okay," Liam says again.

Zayn's fingertips brush his cheek. "Did I wait too long?" he asks. "Am I — shit, should I go? I shouldn't have expected you to just wait for me. Fuck. I'm —"

"Christ, Zayn, you just don't get it," Liam mocks, hands going to Zayn's hips, fingertips digging in to stop him from pulling back. "And just so you know, I like the acoustic album better. And the flowers were nice but they're sort of dead."

Zayn's voice takes on a breathless quality as his mouth gets closer to Liam's. His eyes get all crossed as he tries to keep them focused on Liam's lips. "Tried to do my actual album like that. The record label didn't want it acoustic. And that's okay, the flowers were lame anyways. I just wanted you to know that I hadn't forgotten what I said." His lips get so close to brushing Liam's. "Can we get donuts tomorrow, too? From the coffee shop?"

"Promise you'll play me something?" Liam bargains.

"Anything," Zayn promises. "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

"Okay," Liam says once more, but the last syllable is cut off when Zayn's lips press hard against his own.

Just like he remembers, Zayn's lips are softer than they look, not rough from being bitten, the way you'd expect. And his hands tangle in Liam's shirt, his hair, slide up his ribs and down his neck, like he's trying to touch every inch of skin he can. And Liam can't think, but that's okay because he can feel and, later, when everything has settled down and he's finally worked out that this is real, he'll ask Zayn all those questions that had went through his mind earlier. For now, he's okay with this.

"The only home I've ever known is right here in your arms," Zayn whispers against his lips.

Liam pulls back, but only enough to ask, "What?"

Zayn shakes his head. "Just something I need to write down later. Don't worry about it."

Liam kisses him again, but a moment later he's pulling back again, asking, "Sing it for me when it's done?"

Zayn's fingers glide up his spine and Liam shivers. "Of course," he says. "Whatever you want."