Chapter Text
It’s just barely past midnight and Zayn’s a little drunk on the bottle of Jack Liam managed to swipe from his dad’s liquor cabinet. Liam can tell because as much as Zayn always tries to hide it behind false bravado, he can’t hide the way that Bradford accent that Liam adores so much always thickens, or the way his words come just that little bit slower in an effort to keep himself from slurring. The difference isn’t anything grand. Tiny really. Barely perceptible. Certainly not anything that would be noticeable to anyone else, except someone who’s so intimately familiar with the way Zayn speaks. Someone who could pick Zayn’s voice out of a line-up just from hearing one single half-syllable (and probably tell you everything Zayn was feeling in that moment too). Someone like Liam.
Liam turns to him as he speaks, Zayn’s arms splaying wide and nearly smacking Liam in the face as he gestures about something or other. Liam’s not exactly paying attention to the actual words being said so much as he is just the sound of his voice, the cadence of it, the lilt of the vowels, the way his mouth moves around them. Zayn’s lips are shiny in the moonlight. Whether from saliva or alcohol Liam isn’t sure but, god, he wants so badly to taste it either way. And, okay, Liam might be a tiny bit drunk himself too. Because normally he wouldn’t even let himself think like this. Would stamp out the thought before it even crossed his mind. And definitely wouldn’t let it linger like this, wouldn’t let himself get lost in Zayn like this. But he thinks even if he weren’t drunk he’d still be just as mesmerized by the way Zayn looks almost effervescent in the moonlight filtering down on them through the branches of the oak tree in Liam’s backyard, still nearly bare with it only being the first weeks of of spring.
It’s a hopeless kind of torture, he knows. He can’t stand not being around Zayn, can’t imagine a life without him, but he also knows there’ll never be anything more between them.
He wonders sometimes if there was. Once. But all the what-ifs in the world wouldn’t make a difference now. Because the thing is they don’t talk about it. They never have. It’s been almost four years since that stupid kiss and neither of them have ever so much as uttered a word about it. But it’s fine. Honestly, it is. Because Liam’s different enough as it is, he really doesn’t need to add anything else to the list. Definitely not anything as life-altering as being in love with your best friend, as being…that word he won’t let himself say because he’s not. And anyway it’s pretty clear how Zayn feels. Experiments are experiments. And Zayn’s never had a problem when it comes to girls, for obvious reasons. Most namely those involving his face. But the accent and the rocker-esque clothes and the poetry and the tortured artist thing, and most of all that mind, help too. Enough that people can look past the things that they wouldn’t for someone like Liam, look past the nerdy comics and the dumb jokes and the weird obsessions with the kinds of things most people would turn their nose up at. And he’s not jealous. It’s not like that. He’s accepted that he’s not most people’s cup of tea and it’s not that he’s okay with it per se because of course he wishes he could fit in more, better. But as long as he’s still cool in Zayn’s book, what all those other people think of him doesn’t matter quite as much.
Sometimes when he thinks about it he thinks Zayn is like his compass. As long as he can stay in Zayn’s orbit he thinks he’d be okay with things staying the way they are. He won’t ever get to kiss him or touch him how he secretly wants to, longs to. Because they’re just friends. And that’s all they are. Because Zayn doesn’t see him that way. But that’s okay because he still gets to spend practically his every waking moment with Zayn. Racing their bikes home from school, afternoons down at the local comic book shop, lazy mornings splayed out on Liam’s living room couch watching Saturday morning cartoons, long hours up in Zayn’s room listening to Zayn’s dad’s vinyl collection, nights like this huddled together in the moonlight and the warm spring air with alcohol thrumming through their veins and sometimes heady smoke filling their lungs.
He gets to have amazing moments like this with Zayn and who else can say that? Certainly not those girls who can bat their eyelashes and fawn all they want but at most might only get a group cinema date or a dance at a party, and at the least polite dismissal—and if there’s one thing Liam was ever thankful for it’s that Zayn’s quite picky when it comes to dates. Liam’s still the only one who gets these moments though and he’ll soak them up as much as he can for as long as he can.
Soak up the image of Zayn practically glowing in the moonlight, the way his whole face lights up in excitement as he continues his story, the long silhouette of his fingers dancing as he gestures, how beautifully the words sound rolling off his tongue in that slowed down thickened accent. Liam could sit here all night, watching him, listening to him. Could sit here for an eternity even and never grow tired of just this, seeing him, hearing him. And it’s so easy to lose himself in this. He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t seem to help himself, especially when Zayn’s tongue flicks out to lick at his lips, leaving them spit-slick and shiny again.
“Leeyum? Are you even still listening to me?” Zayn suddenly says, waving a hand in front of Liam’s face.
Liam takes entirely too long to shift his gaze up, back from Zayn’s mouth to his eye level and he may be drunker than originally planned. He’d been steadily sipping at the bottle a bit just for something to do while Zayn talked so his staring wasn’t quite so obvious but in retrospect that was probably not the best of ideas, though in his defense he wasn’t the most sober to begin with when he had the idea in the first place anyway.
“…Yes,” Liam says after way too long of a pause. God, why did he keep drinking. He’s an idiot. He’s supposed to stay alert so he can keep himself from getting caught doing stupid things like exactly this.
“Oh yeah? Then what was the last thing I said?”
Zayn licks his lips again, quirking a brow, and Liam can’t help it. He’s too drunk to properly control his reactions now and his graze drags back down and just sits there.
“Leeyum?” Zayn says again, and Liam sees his mouth move before the sound even registers. Shit, he’s so drunk.
When he finally manages to drag his gaze back up again Zayn is just looking at him, brows furrowed. Oh, god. He’s fucking blown it. Zayn knows. He let himself get too drunk and now Zayn knows. God, he’s really gone and screwed himself now, hasn’t he. Unless…maybe he can blame it on the liquor? Just say he got too drunk and zoned out? Would Zayn believe that? He has no idea…
Zayn licks his lips again, slow this time, like it’s purposeful, and Liam’s helpless not to follow the movement. Gets lost in the drag of Zayn’s tongue as it moves, the way he leaves his lips slightly parted after, wet and open like an invitation. Liam can almost imagine the feel of it against his own mouth, slick and warm with a hint of the taste of Jack underneath. But he stops himself before his imagination can run too wild with thoughts of more.
When he finally manages to look back up Zayn is watching him, an unreadable expression on his face and Liam turns his own face away sharply, swallowing as he reaches for the bottle.
“Um. Think I might’ve had too much drink,” he says, feigning a chuckle, face still angled toward the ground as he lifts the bottle a bit for emphasis. He’s trying desperately to keep this light-hearted, pass it off. He’s not sure if he succeeds, if Zayn’s going to let him, but he’s too afraid to look at his face again to check, too afraid of what he might find there. And so instead he just moves to get up, making to put the bottle back up and call it a night and hoping that tomorrow they can just laugh about all this, tease each other about how drunk they both were and forget this little moment ever happened. But Zayn stops him with a hand on his shoulder before Liam can even make it to his feet.
They sit there in silence for a while, Zayn just looking at him with that unreadable gaze before he finally turns back to the yard in front of them and speaks, voice soft like a secret, like he’s afraid of someone overhearing.
“D’you…d’you ever think about…that day?”
Liam doesn’t have to ask what day he’s talking about. The memory of it, the feel of Zayn’s soft lips pressed to his own just for the briefest of moments, has been seared into his brain since the second it happened.
“No,” he lies. Which is the absolute stupidest answer but one that his drunkenness prevents him from realizing just how stupid until only after he’s said it. He’s such a fucking idiot. If he never thought about it how would he even know what Zayn is talking about well enough to answer? Much less so quickly at that.
He sees the corner of Zayn’s lips quirk up in response to Liam’s obvious lie before he’s reaching for the bottle still wrapped in Liam’s fingers.
“Lemme get some more of that.”
Liam lets his hand fall away and tries hard not to stare at the long line of Zayn’s neck as he tips his head back to take a swig.
“Liquid courage, right?” Zayn says as he sets the bottle back down and turns slowly to Liam, eyes big and sincere in the moonlight and Liam has just enough time to think liquid courage for what before Zayn’s moving into his space and Liam lets out the tiniest, most embarrassing gasp. More a hiccup really.
Liam tries to back up, thinking surely Zayn’s just drunk and this is all some sort of game, realizes his arms are too shaky and instead just shifts his face back a bit but Zayn simply moves closer again to make up the difference.
“Zayn…what are you…”
“What I should’ve done a long time ago.”
He swoops in like he really means to kiss Liam and Liam’s heart is pounding but he reaches out to put a hand to Zayn’s chest. “Wait.”
He shuts his eyes, then opens them again, needing to make sure this is really real, that this is actually happening, and yet even when he sees Zayn still there, lips a mere centimeter away from his own, he keeps his hand pressed to Zayn’s chest. This is everything he’s ever wanted but.
“If this is like before…I don’t…”
He doesn’t wanna say he doesn’t want this cause that’s not entirely true but. If this is going to happen he doesn’t want it like this.
“I don’t wanna be an experiment,” he says instead. “I don’t want this to be just a…a thing we don’t talk about again.”
“I know. Me either,” Zayn says and his voice is soft but desperate. Liam’s never heard him like this, never seen him like this. “I was scared. And stupid. And I thought. I thought you couldn’t possibly want me that way too, like maybe you just went along with it to be nice, and I thought if I ignored it long enough I could make it go away and pretend like it never happened but the way you were just looking at me, I…just…is—is it okay?” his lips are so close they’re practically touching Liam’s now already, breath puffing right into Liam’s mouth and Liam nods, feeling as if he’s rooted to the spot right along with the tree as Zayn leans in and holy hell.
He always thought that thing they do in movies where fireworks explode when people get together was just a cliché but if there was ever anything that proved just how real that feeling is it’s this moment right here. Zayn tastes just like Liam imagined he would, better even, and his lips are so soft and his mouth is so warm and just…perfect. Everything about this moment is perfect.
Zayn presses into him so they’re chest to chest and absolutely ravages Liam’s mouth until Liam doesn’t even care anymore about the embarrassing noises he’s letting out because all he can see, feel, taste, touch, think about is Zayn Zayn Zayn.
Zayn curls a hand around the back of Liam’s neck and snakes another around his waist and then they’re going down, down into the grass and for the first time in his life Liam desperately wishes it was possible for humans to exist without oxygen because he doesn’t wanna come up for air ever. Zayn is a solid weight on top of him, both their hands in each other’s hair, nearly glued together like one being in the dewy grass, but when Zayn starts nipping at his lips Liam nearly loses it.
In a split second he goes from wishing he didn’t need oxygen to being eternally grateful he does as he pulls back a bit because if he doesn’t get both oxygen and blood flow back into his brain right this second he’s afraid his nether regions might actually explode.
“Okay?” Zayn says, lips still hovering dangerously close to Liam’s.
Liam nods, feeling dazed and way more than just drunk now.
Zayn presses one last chaste kiss to Liam’s lips and then slides over to lay in the grass next to him, chest still pressed flush to Liam’s side and fingers dancing precariously at the hem of Liam’s shirt.
Liam darts his tongue out to run over his own kiss-bitten lips, Zayn’s gaze immediately drawn to watch and there’s a weird sort of self-satisfying thrill that goes through Liam at that just before their eyes lock again. They’re both still breathing heavy from the rush, chests rising and falling in sync with each other and he wants nothing more than to pull Zayn back in and never let him go. But there’s still something he needs to say first.
“Pinky swear we won’t pretend like this didn’t happen tomorrow,” Liam says so soft it’s almost a whisper, holding out his little finger.
“Pinky swear,” Zayn agrees with a sharp nod, lips parted, eyes just as glassy and dazed as Liam feels, but hooking his finger in Liam’s all the same. And then using that same finger to tug Liam back into him and press their lips together once more.