Why did I pursue a career in education? is the question Zayn asks himself every morning when his alarm goes off at seven. Tired eyes crack open just enough to find the source of the blaring siren and push snooze. Another nine minutes won't do much for his energy, but at least he can put off experiencing the chilly morning temperature by staying warm under his grey comforter.
By the time the fourth snooze alarm hits, Zayn actually sits up. He could probably afford one more if he wanted to really push it, but at this point Liam might end up getting homemade brew instead of some hole in the wall place off his list; if Zayn sleeps any longer, they might wind up with whatever black stew can be found in the hospital.
"J. Edgar Hoover: FBI leader or traitor? On this episode of the Conspiracy 101 podcast we investigate whether or not the US Government Official used blackmail as a way of keeping his position."
Running his hand through his towel dried hair, Zayn stares at himself in the mirror hung in the entryway to his flat. The closely buzzed sides of his head contrast with the top that's about 10 cm longer and falling flat rather than sticking up in a quiff thanks to his laziness that day. His earphones cord peeks out from underneath a black and white striped jumper, a thick, black velvet biker jacket covering it. The top's got faux fur lining, which causes the teacher to keep its collar popped up so his neck and lower jaw can stay warm. If it weren't for the white in his jumper, Zayn might've thought of his outfit as a bit too dark, especially with black jeans and his usual black framed glasses completing the look.
It matches my mood, he thinks grumpily. It's gonna be a long day.
As he waits for his two flat white's at the corner shop near his house that he likes to go to (when he's not running late for the bus), Zayn eyes the freshly baked pain au chocolat in the display case. In his morning fog, he had managed to make himself a bowl of Weetabix, but the sugar from the pastry could do him well. He'd blocked out two hours for Liam in his calendar that morning, a staff meeting at half past eleven not giving him much choice for any more than that. Afterwards a quick lunch, then his office hours, which he planned to use as a time to transcribe whatever he and Liam talked about that day, should no students show up and he be left to his own devices. A quick bolt of sugar couldn't hurt.
"Zayn? Two flat whites for takeaway?"
A practiced, fake smile finds its way to Zayn's lips as he takes the two cups from the barista. "Thanks." Turning to check out the decadent pastries, he notices that four new people have joined the queue. "Bullocks," he grumbles to himself, choosing to forgo the baked goods in order to make it to Liam on time. Although, looking through the window that's centered in the research lab door soon after, ten minutes early doesn't seem to be early enough.
With each hand holding a paper cup, Zayn uses his right knuckle to knock on the glass and get Liam's attention. A few other heads inside the room turn at the sound, but once Liam registers who caused it, he's out of his chair before anyone can say anything.
"Morning," the man greets cheerfully, immediately relieving Zayn of one of the white cups.
"Morning," he replies, doing his best to sound half as awake as Liam is.
It helps that the other didn't use the full 'good morning' because then it might be a little harder to come across as civilized; there wasn't anything good about having to turn his brain on this early. The fifteen minute walk over from the coffee shop woke him up considerably, but only because of the ice cold weather. If Zayn wanted to be shocked into consciousness, he would've taken the liberty himself and turned his shower faucet all the way to the right, not the left. At least it wasn't raining today, that would've been the cherry on top.
"Smells good," Liam thinks aloud after bringing the coffee up to his nose and taking a long inhale of the steam billowing out of the lid's rectangle slit. "Do you want me to set your bag down and then we can take a walk around? There's no food or drink in the lab unless it's a closed water bottle."
Thankful that Liam's offered to take them away from a place where others can listen in on their conversation, Zayn nods and trades Liam's cup for his briefcase.
Maybe they wouldn't fall into a conversation about anything other than Liam's research, but even then, the seriousness that the room exudes has Zayn worried that one decibel above a whisper, and he'd be disturbing any of the others' work; he'd like to keep his pristine keycard thank you very much.
A small smile comes to Zayn when he sees Liam open the door with a bag of Wotsits in hand.
"My vision might not be," Liam says when he sees that Zayn's noticed his half of the deal being upheld, "but my memory's quite sharp."
It's no pastry filled with rich chocolate, but the fact that the crisps still fall into the junk food category will suffice. Saying his thanks, Zayn's rewarded the freshly opened bag in exchange for Liam's coffee.
Twisting the cup around at eye level, Liam searches for some sort of label before they start walking forward. "Which place did this one come from?"
"My own actually," Zayn answers, reveling in the cheesy taste that's just coated his taste buds. "Couldn't be arsed to wake up early enough to go to the place you wrote down that's closest to here." With no real care for directional accuracy, Zayn points his cup to the left of them. "My flat's about twenty minutes up the road, otherwise I would've gotten something from the checklist that's in the city center."
"What's it called?"
"Deli Delight," Zayn says with a full mouth, having just pulled out a handful of the orange puffs and opting to eat them all at once. "They've got good sandwiches too," he makes known, passing the bag back to Liam before he gets more carried away than he already has.
Humoured by Zayn's appetite, Liam smiles around the edge of his cup that's sitting against his lips. "It's not bad," he declares after swallowing.
In his sleepwalking state of mind, Zayn hadn't even thought to ask how the other liked his morning drink. "Just went with the default flat white." Not that Liam doesn't already know that. "Hope that's alright."
"No yeah, it's good," Liam waves off kindly. "I'm not picky." An upcoming bin makes him stop and pry off the lid. "I usually get a plain latte, but they're practically two in the same."
Bringing the cup up close to his mouth, Liam blows on its contents. All at once, his glasses fog up into a cloudy barrier, but that doesn't stop the man from taking a sip.
Waiting in his spot, Zayn bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide at the fog that's now taking twice as long to evaporate, as it did appear. Even though it's got nothing to do with age, the action still winds up making Liam look like a child. It's not a rare occurrence for someone with glasses, yet Zayn's never found himself dating anyone who wore frames. The endearment his exes always got from when it happened to him, finally makes sense.
As soon as Liam's lenses start to clear up again, it becomes apparent that he's indecisive on how to react knowing that he'd been watched closely over something so mundane. And now Zayn's even more glad they're not in front of others, so he doesn't have to hide the blatant flirtatious move he's about to make.
Taking a couple steps closer to where Liam's standing allows Zayn to drop his own lid into the bin. He'd been nursing the drink ever since he left the corner cafe, but when he tilts the cup back, he blows with emphasis on the liquid that's left inside so the last of the remaining heat can make his own glasses cloudy.
"Did you know," Liam starts with an excited tone, and fond smile once Zayn's lenses go back to being see-through. "Well yeah, you probably did," the man backtracks momentarily. "That da Vinci might've had a disorder where one of his eyes was turned outward a hair?" Instead of answering, Zayn just lets Liam keep going like it seems like he wants to. "I read that he might've been able to control it too, which is how he was such an amazing painter. Being able to see a canvas as a 3-D surface instead of only a 2-D might've been what made his paintings so realistic."
Given that the last time da Vinci was brought up between the two of them Liam admitted his lack of knowledge on the legendary man, Zayn's shocked at the facts that are being relayed to him. Liam's right to assume that he did know all about what the other's managed to teach himself, yet what that was, isn't commonplace, so Zayn's astonishment stays as is. But if Liam wants to talk art, then they'll talk art.
"If you pay attention to the exterior landscape outside the windows in the Last Supper, you can see how he uses more dull colours - grey, steel blue, stale off-white," Zayn lists off, snatching the crisps bag back after they start walking again and Liam's already taken a few, "to create an illusion of depth. It's a technique used by lots of painters in the Renaissance, but given that you know the Last Supper by its name-" Zayn stops himself, realizing that he can't make that sort of assumption about people's awareness of art. "Do you?" He double checks cautiously, afraid that he's already inadvertently insulted Liam if he didn't actually know what the Last Supper is.
"I don't remember the details," the younger man replies, "but I reckon I could pick it out in a lineup."
Relief eases Zayn's nerves back down. "Good, because that proves my point. The fact that it's become such a well known painting- mural really," he corrects himself, "shows how well he implemented it. Extropia definitely would've helped with that."
While Zayn chucks a few more Wotsits into his mouth, Liam sounds out the name of the eye disease slowly.
"Did you decide to switch your career field and join me on the fun side?" The lecturer asks in a mischievous tone, turning his head to the side and seeing Liam already shaking his head.
"Wait until I get my hands on my first tissue sample," he counters, taking the crisps back in jovial debate. "Then you'll be the one wanting to join me."
"Not in a million years." And Zayn means that. He couldn't think of anything more nerve wracking or strenuous than being a scientific researcher. "How'd you come across something as specific as his possible eye disorder?" Zayn asks, unable to keep the question to himself since this was all so out of left field.
"Google," Liam answers passively before moving on to his next thought in a flash. "It's not the only thing I found out about him either." Raising his eyebrows, Zayn waits patiently. "He only slept two hours a day. Took a twenty minute nap every four hours. That's mad!"
Liam's enthusiasm causes the older man to laugh lightly as they round a white corner into another white corridor. "To you and I, but we spend a third of our life sleeping. He got back years and years of his life by sleeping in low cycles like that." A few more crisps are taken from their bag. "More room for creativity."
"Yeah, but your dopamine levels would be so off balanced that it would negatively affect your cognitive function," Liam argues after taking a drink from his cup. "You can't have too much of it and you can't have too little of it."
"Isn't dopamine a happy thing?" Turning his head away from the boring bulletin boards they were passing, Zayn studies Liam's side profile in confusion.
"It can be." Sensing he's being watched, the male glances at his admirer briefly. "It can also be used to help people move - literally."
That doesn't help Zayn's understanding in the least. "Like one foot in front of the other?"
"Mhmm," Liam nods, grabbing a couple of their shared orange snacks before he goes on to elaborate. "Dopamine is a sort of chemical messenger that tells the brain to do something. The brain's got a lot of different compartments, but there are two areas that make dopamine. One part produces it and gives off signals for the brain to start movements and even form words. People who have Parkinson's disease sometimes take medications that help them make more dopamine so they can move better. The other part sends dopamine signals around the brain when a living thing gets a reward."
He reaches into the crisps bag again, holding one up for Zayn to see. "Take Wotsits," he states matter of factly. "We like Wotsits. If I eat one," he tosses the puff into his mouth. "I know that it's good and I want more. My taste buds say yes, and the dopamine gets released to tell the brain, 'figure out a way to get more, because I like it'. It's like a reinforcement system that keeps you coming back for more, which is how drug highs make people addicted." Zayn opens up the bag wider when the man goes for another handful. "I have good self-restraint, otherwise I could easily get addicted to Wotsits."
There's a corny smile being sent his way, but Zayn's hung up on how easy that all was to comprehend to give it too much attention; he might even be able to remember the definition a week from now. Forget trying to remember how a dj mixing board works or what Kenya's quarterly rainfall is. So badly does he want to ask Liam if he realizes just how smart he really is, but as someone who was also the type that excelled at school, Zayn knows how annoying it can get to hear. There's a good chance Liam would throw the compliment back at him and say that Zayn was just that comprehensive in art history too, so if they wanted to keep from engaging in a war of shy flattery, he should just keep his praise-heavy thoughts to himself.
"You and me both," Zayn responds, going against his good judgement and handing over the bag to put Liam's self-restraint to the test. "What else did you learn?"
"That he writes backwards." The man nods to a woman that's passing on his right. "How long do you think it'd take you to be able to write backwards without needing to think about it?" He asks Zayn as soon as she's passed, stopping where they are and taking out a pen from his trouser pocket.
As Zayn takes the question into consideration, estimating the amount of time he thinks he'd be able to call himself fluent in mirrored writing, he takes the cup and bag that Liam's handing him. The other uncaps the black pen and steps towards the nearest wall, splaying his left palm against the surface.
"Maybe a couple weeks," Zayn finally voices, scrutinizing the way Liam's trying to write his name backwards on the back of his left hand. "But he wrote right to left as well, not just standard reverse handwriting."
As soon as he hears Zayn's words, Liam's face drops from the proud expression it held at getting his name written without any mistakes. "Oh." In the blink of an eye, he's restarting in the space underneath his first attempt. This time around makes Liam think a lot harder, but the way he beams at his final product seems hardly warranted to Zayn given that three out of the four letters in Liam's lowercase name is the same backwards as it is forward. "You try," the man insists, already reaching to take what's in Zayn's hands from him.
"Mine's about four times as hard as yours," he preempts, gripping Liam's pen and trying to think about how to start with the 'n'. "So don't judge me."
"I won't."
Things go well up until he gets to the 'z' and winds up realizing halfway through the diagonal that he's not doing it backwards. "Fuck." Immediately, he sends daggers to the man at his side, who's trying to suppress his giggles. "What'd I just say?"
"I wasn't judging you," Liam defends in haste, his laughter having seized, but the way the right side of his mouth curves up serves as a reminder that it happened. "Here," he motions for them to switch handfuls. "Let me try."
He doesn't even make it past the 'y' before realizing he's majorly screwed up.
"Yeah," Zayn smirks triumphantly. "Who's untouchable now, Einstein?"
Pocketing the pen and taking back his things, Liam leads them back to their walk. "Do you know a lot about him too?"
"No, definitely not," Zayn's eyes widen slightly at the enormity of a task it would be to master a second genius of Einstein's stature. "Only know as much about da Vinci as I do from going to an art exhibit last spring that had a few of his pieces from the Royal Library on display."
"Yeah, it said it was the 500 year anniversary of his death this year."
Zayn nods in confirmation, "That's why the original journal pages were taken out of Windsor Castle - as a celebration for the public to see things that are normally inaccessible to anyone but the Queen and historians." Whiteness from the floor tiles draws Zayn in. "I always loved his artwork, but that exhibition opened my eyes to how brilliant he was in pretty much every field. It's that fascination that made me want to showcase the man's notes as independent research."
"And now thanks to you, I know a bit more about him too." Looking up from the mundane flooring, Zayn finds himself smiling back at the soft grin Liam's giving him. "Have you been to the exhibit at the National Gallery in London about him that opened a couple weeks ago?"
Some Google search this was, Zayn thinks to himself at the specific question he's being asked.
"I'm waiting until after the term ends," he replies, nearly asking Liam to go with him since that's the response his brain naturally tells him to give. "It's a tough wait though," he divulges. "I love museums."
"Yeah?" Liam's eyebrows raise in response to learning something as important as one of Zayn's 'favourites'. "There's quite a few here in Oxford."
The enthusiasm the PhD student speaks with energizes Zayn as if he's the one experiencing it. He hopes that what he says next doesn't diminish any of it. "I know. I've been to all of them."
Liam's head whips to his left, "Already?"
"I really love museums," the older man simpers, reaching for more crisps.
"Even the history of science one?"
"It certainly wasn't first," Zayn says with his mouth half full. "But yeah, I've been."
"I think that's the only one I've been to honestly," Liam confesses while looking down in his coffee cup to see how much is left.
Before he's got the chance to filter himself and avoid revealing too much about his non-existent social life, Zayn speaks. "Haven't really made that many friends here yet, so it was a nice way to fill up my days before the term started."
"It's been about a month since then." Quickly, Liam turns concerned. "Have you found your crowd?"
The last thing Zayn wants is sympathy, especially from someone who is more likely than not, going to follow up on what he had to say with an invite to some pub, strictly because it was a nice thing to do for the new kid.
"I could say yes, but that'd be an answer solely based on my obligatory coworkers being mates," Zayn teases half-heartedly. "So I'll say no, not really. But it's alright," he reassures swiftly, "I'm not a super social person anyway. 'M pretty reserved."
"Well, I've never been to any of the modern art museums in town."
Which goes to show how little you know about art, Zayn muses to himself. There's only one.
"If you'd be up for it..."
Here it comes.
"Maybe we can go to your favourite one of these days and you can talk me ear off about what's all on display."
As they continue to meander down the hospital hallway, Zayn wonders what Liam might be like at a museum. If he actually takes the time to read what's on the plaques, or if he goes around at the speed of light, only looking to find the one real piece he recognizes as a default wallpaper on his laptop. He did say he'd be interested in going if Zayn acted as his docent, which does make the teacher stop and consider that Liam might have actually meant what he said and didn't request for the accompaniment out of obligation, but he's still hesitant. Zayn doesn't want his space to be tainted should they go and the other start to get bored; museums were not about to be ruined for him just because a man with the smile of an elated puppy and the intellectual charm of Zayn's dreams suggested they go on a whim.
He takes a glimpse to his right.
The smallest bit of fog clouds the lower third of Liam's glasses as he finishes his coffee.
"Yeah, that'd be cool," Zayn finally replies.
It seems impossible to do anytime soon with his schedule how it is at the moment, but he's willing to at least verbally admit that the concept is something he's on board with.
Looking into the bag that's being pointed at him, Zayn can see that Liam's offering him the last of their crisps.
"Worst part about Wotsits?" The younger male asks as the bag's being emptied.
"The mess!" Both say at the same time, chuckling as each holds up orange coated fingers after tossing their rubbish into the bin attached to a nearby janitor's trolley.
"We can wash this off in the lab," Liam says while wiggling his fingers childishly, "and then I can start where we left off last week - going over the details of how my project's meant to work."
Nerves of becoming overwhelmed by the meat of what he's come to Liam for have been washed away thanks to the man's previous comforting scientific explanations. Zayn might even enjoy the detailed lecture, who knows?
"I think the caffeine has hit enough for me to be able to keep my eyes open for the rest of the day," he teases, though also very much means. "So I think I'm ready."
Rubbing his hands together to try and get as much of the orange dust off as possible before they got back to the lab, Liam starts to get excited at the prospect of getting to babble about his life's work. "I've got this whole 3-D simulation with my bonding predictions on the computer. You're going to love it."
He might be more than willing to listen to Liam talk about his passion, but Zayn doesn't ever think he'll ever love cardiology in the same sense as the researcher does. That's not to say that he doesn't find the information about how cells can be bred in a petri dish and then attach together similar to how skin closes over itself in the case of a cut or with the help of stitches interesting, it's just that the attention to detail that needs to be taken with something as small as an atom reminds Zayn that he's way out of his league. Even so, he enjoys seeing Liam's animation that comes from getting to talk about how he plans to have ventricular heart cells assemble and function as a strip of pure muscle. It's evident in the way the man's eyes widen ever so slightly and his voice starts to speed up when he's showing Zayn the video outlining the process through elementary graphics that he got the other researchers in the lab to help him create. How he's so unbelievably eager to learn the software himself and play around with molecular models so that next time, he can come up with "the most wicked thing ever". As if it wasn't already apparent by the way Liam had gone out of his way to educate himself on Zayn's research topic of choice, this need to master another skill on top of the hundreds he already possesses, shows Zayn how much Liam simply loves to learn.
Between that insatiable love for knowledge and the jumbled up version of his name sitting on Liam's left hand that's put on direct display each time the man points to the screen or something in his notes, Zayn can tell that the calm smile on his face won't be going away any time soon.