but forget maybe [four]
The snow melts and the year stutters forward, still cold but losing its painful, sharp edges. Zayn and Louis’s girlfriends both come to visit, and Louis bothers Liam all week to make sure he’s coming out to meet them on Friday night.
Liam: i already said I prmise
Louis: but niall says you lie a lot
Liam: dnt evr listen 2 niall
Liam and Niall go to the band’s hotel in time for dinner on Friday and the girls are there, looking a bit overwhelmed and jetlagged but lovely, Eleanor tall and elegant and Perrie small and vibrant and hugging him as soon as they’re introduced, “Zayn’s told me so much about you, Liam,” and Liam is surprised because he didn’t think he made that much of an impression.
Dinner is a loud affair and the wine pours freely. By nine o’clock Perrie’s leaned over Zayn to take Liam’s hands in your face. “Oh, I just love you,” she says, squeezing his cheeks together, and Liam can’t stop laughing at her.
“Zayn is my favorite, you know,” he tells her, trying to whisper and evidently failing, because across the table Louis perks up instantly, snapping out of his Eleanor haze for the first time all night to say, “Excuse me?” and sound terribly offended.
Liam’s giggling, his mind hazy with wine. Eleanor drags a hand over Louis’s hair, mussed already, probably from her, and says, “Don’t worry, love, you’re still my favorite. Most of the time,” and they’re all laughing loudly.
Liam leans toward them. “It’s okay, no, it’s okay, Louis is my other favorite,” he says, loud enough to be heard, and then it’s Harry, sitting in the corner, whose turn it is to say, “Heeeyyy,” and look offended, and he’s been quiet enough that Liam almost forgot he was there.
They’re all laughing again, but Liam, even in his wine induced state, isn’t entirely convinced Harry is joking. “I’m just mad because you won’t sign my chest,” he says, and he knows he’s drunk because what does that even mean? Harry’s eyes get wide, like he’s shocked, and then he laughs loudly, leaning forward with his mouth stretched wide, and he claps his hand over it to hide it.
“All right!” he yells when he’s recovered, and he’s climbing over the table toward Liam, “Who’s got a pen? We’re going to fix this right now!” He reaches toward Liam, gets a hand fisted in his shirt before Louis grabs Harry by the waist and pulls his back down.
“You’re going to get us kicked out, Hazza,” he says, which normally Louis would be fine with but apparently not with Eleanor right there. Liam’s relieved, anyway. He doesn’t really want to take off his shirt in the middle of the restaurant. He grins at Harry, wide and happy, and Harry smiles back at him, a bit more subdued.
“I’ll be your favorite yet, Liam Payne,” he says. Liam wonders hazily if it’s a threat or a promise.
Liam goes to the bathroom and when he comes back the table is rearranged, Harry in Zayn’s old spot next to Liam, Zayn and Perrie missing from the table.
“Went back to the hotel,” Harry says ruefully when Liam drops down next to him, heavy and tired.
“Not a bad idea,” Liam says without thinking, and when Harry’s head snaps up and a smile starts to spread across his face he catches himself. “I mean - not to do what they’re doing - just because I’m tired -“
Harry laughs loudly anyway and pats Liam on the back. “I got what you meant,” he says kindly, and in his hand his phone lights up with a message and he looks to it.
“Where’s, um,” Liam says, like he can’t remember her name, but he can, of course, he hasn’t forgotten for a day, “Where’s Caroline?”
Harry looks up sharply, his face blank, and then back at his phone. “Busy tonight,” he says simply.
“Oh,” Liam says. He toys with a straw wrapper on the table, Louis, Niall, and Eleanor are wrapped up in a conversation Liam can’t hear and he sits quietly.
“Thought I’d go back to the dorms with you and Nialler,” Harry says suddenly, sliding his phone in his pocket. “Don’t want to intrude on the love nest,” he says, and nods his head toward Louis and Eleanor, but keeps his eyes on Liam.
“Sure,” Liam says slowly. “Don’t know where you’ll sleep, but -“
“He can cuddle with me,” Niall says, jumping into their conversation suddenly, when Liam didn’t even know he’d been listening.
“Aw, thanks, Nialler,” Harry says, and holds his arms out toward Niall. Niall slides around the table and into him, burrowing his face in Harry’s shoulder exaggeratedly.
“Looks like you’re the only one going home alone tonight, Li,” Louis says, a smirk in his voice. Liam forces himself to smile.
In the end, Matt’s roommate is gone and Niall goes up to the third floor to sleep in the extra bed, and Liam once again finds himself alone in his room with Harry Styles.
Harry tries to steal Liam’s bed again, but Liam whines and finally Harry drags himself over to Niall’s like it’s a big chore. “His bed doesn’t smell as nice as yours,” Harry says moodily once he’s tucked himself into it.
“No kidding,” Liam says, shutting down his computer. “I actually do laundry once in awhile.”
“Don’t tell me how dirty his sheets are now,” Harry mutters and pushes his head down into the pillow.
Liam turns the lights off and gets into his own bed, pulling the covers tight around him. It’s quiet inside, only the noise from the street filtering in through the window, and Liam thinks maybe Harry is already asleep until he speaks, whispering loudly.
“Liam?” he says.
Liam shifts around, turning his body toward Niall’s bed, and he can’t make out anything except a vague lump of a shape on that side of the room. “Yeah?” he whispers back, and doesn’t know why they’re being quiet.
Harry doesn’t say anything and neither of them moves for a long time, until finally he answers, “Never mind.”
Liam wants to ask, but then again, he doesn’t. “Sweet dreams,” he says, and can't fall asleep for hours.
The next morning Harry commandeers Liam’s bed as soon as he gets up to go to the restroom. Liam pretends to be annoyed but he isn’t really; he gets Harry a tea and himself a coffee and then drops into his desk chair to check his email and his assignment list for the next week.
“Wish the weather was always like this,” Harry says, wrapped up in Liam’s sheets once again. Liam glances at him, drinking black tea in his bed and tries not to think about how that almost seems normal now.
Liam looks out the window. It’s cloudless, the sky bright, perfect blue.
“It’s nice,” Liam says, and turns back to his screen, reading idly. “We’d get bored of it all the time, though. Take it for granted.”
Harry doesn’t answer and when he’s quiet for too long Liam hazards a glance at him. He’s looking back at Liam, his face twisted with - something, but Liam only catches the end and his expression clears.
“Let’s go to the park, yeah?” he asks hopefully.
“You do love the park, don’t you?” Liam says, but then, Liam does too, and he spends the rest of the afternoon stretched out in Sheep Meadow, golden highlighter skating across his book and golden Harry laid out across from him.
"How was your study group?" Niall asks absently when he slides into their booth late Monday afternoon, heaving his heavy bag onto the floor at their feet.
"It was --" he says, and it's the pause that makes everyone look up. "It was -- I think I accidentally went on a date?" he tells them as a question.
"Accidentally went on a date?" Louis asks, confused, at the same time Niall asks, "Again?"
"Again?" Zayn asks. Harry doesn't say anything, just blinks at Liam, slow and steady, so Liam lets his eyes rest there, the only respite from questions.
"Liam does this all the time," Niall says. He's tearing up a sugar packet and Liam wants to still his hands, but he doesn't. "He thinks people want to hang out as friends and then, surprise! He's getting groped on the subway."
"The groping thing only happened once," Liam protests half-heartedly.
“Well, are you going to go out with him again?” Louis asks, eyes teasing and merciless, and Liam pretends to think.
“Well, he did buy me a brownie and give me his notes from lecture,” he says, joking. “It’s not a completely bad deal.”
"I have to go to the bathroom," Harry says suddenly, and he's in the middle so Louis and Zayn have to move to let him out. He doesn't look at Liam and Liam doesn't know what to make of that, so. It spoils the flow of the conversation and they move on to other things, to Liam’s relief.
When Harry comes back Zayn starts to slide to let him back in, but Harry ignores it and pushes in next to Liam, flush against him from shoulder to knee. Zayn looks at Liam and shrugs, goes back to his conversation with Louis, and Niall’s texting someone so Liam just sits, jangling his legs, suddenly restless and jittery. Harry’s the opposite, stone still next to him, but Liam’s trying not to think about that, about anything, until Harry slides his ankle between Liam’s and hooks them together.
“Stop,” Harry says quietly, so no one else can hear. Liam isn’t quite sure when he’s talking about but he stays as still as he can until they leave.
Liam goes to open track, and when he gets out he has multiple texts from Niall.
Niall: boys doing a secret show in Williamsburg
Niall: ‘secret’ = posted it on twittr and there’s a line around the block
Niall: come down when ur done being mr athlete man!!!
Liam doesn’t know how this became his life, usually he would ignore Niall and head home, but here he is on a train with wet hair and his gym bag heading out of Manhattan on a Tuesday night when he has class tomorrow morning.
By the time Liam gets there the show’s already started, he can hear Harry’s voice from down the street and he picks up the pace even though his legs ache from running. He goes to the back door where Niall told him to and there’s a large man with his name on a list. It makes him feel weirdly important, until he finds the tiny, dingy and dirty dressing room strewn with old food, sets his gym bag down and the feeling passes.
He finds Niall leaning against a pillar off the side of the stage, bouncing along with the music. He smiles brightly when he sees Liam, and Liam goes to stand next to him, peering out at the band. Louis sees him right away and grins, nodding hugely. Zayn’s on the other side, shrouded in shadows with his head down, and Harry’s leaning out into the crowd, singing, “Keep us comatose but audible, and I like it the farther out I get,” but he looks oddly serious and strained.
Liam nods out the stage and asks Niall. “Everything all right?”
Niall shrugs and pockets his phone. “Yeah, sounds good. Been awhile since they played.”
Liam watches a few moments longer. Harry turns, his eyes fall on where he and Niall are standing but his face doesn’t change, still drawn and not right. “Take heart, sweetheart, or I will take it from you,” he sings, and spins away towards Zayn.
Liam and Niall step out of the way when the band comes back before the encore, and Louis’s coming over to say hi when Harry interrupts, ignoring their conversation.
“I want to do The Boy Who Blocked instead,” he says, looking at Louis with his jaw set.
“We haven’t practiced that for ages,” Louis replies, and Liam can hear him straining to keep his voice neutral. Zayn just grabs a bottle of water and takes a long drink, looking between his bandmates.
“We’ve played it a million times, who cares? It’s practically the same as Soco Amaretto anyway,” Harry says, and reaches for his acoustic guitar.
“It’s not the same at all,” Louis says, and his voice slips into something a bit harder.
“I mean for like lighting and staging purposes,” Harry amends, shrugging. He tosses his guitar strap over his shoulder. “I’ll do it all acoustic if you don’t want to play it,” he says, and it’s the final word, apparently, because he goes back on the stage by himself and Louis grits his teeth.
Liam looks between Harry, on a stool by himself with lights falling over him, and Louis next to him. “Everything okay?” he asks hesitantly. For awhile it seems like Louis doesn’t hear him, his eyes focused on Harry on stage, “If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand,” but then Louis looks at him and forces a grin as he picks up his drumsticks and starts to make his way back to his drum set.
“All good,” he calls behind him. “Harold’s just in a mood.”
Liam can only see the back of Harry’s head from where he is, so he just sinks back and listens. His voice sounds terribly sad, but then, it’s a sad song. Call me a safe bet. I’m betting I’m not.
The crowd goes crazy when Harry finishes, calling for one more song, but he just puts his guitar down gently and walks off stage, not acknowledging the crowd, not Louis and not Liam and Niall, and he disappears down a side hallway.
Zayn appears next to Liam, wraps an arm around his shoulder. “He’ll be fine soon, he needs a moment,” he says, waving it off. Apparently this isn’t abnormal, so Liam tries not to think about it, just follows Zayn and Louis back to the dressing room and sits on the floor while Zayn showers and Louis digs up some M&Ms and bananas to snack on.
“Living the rockstar life,” he says, but Niall seems pretty happy with it, pouring half the bag of chocolates into his mouth at once.
Liam doesn’t really want to eat without washing his hands, this venue is kind of gross, but Zayn is in the bathroom. “Is there another bathroom around here?” he wonders out loud, and Louis says yes, but he’s not sure where, so Liam tells them he’ll be going on a grand adventure to find it and they should try not to be jealous.
He turns one corner, and then another, and then Harry’s there, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees pulled up. He doesn’t look up as Liam gets closer, so Liam just slides down to sit next to him, far enough away that Harry can ignore him if he wants to. Liam leans his head back and closes his eyes for a minute, suddenly exhausted.
“You don’t have to do this,” Harry says finally, and his head is down against his arm, his voice muffled.
Liam startles. “Do what?” he asks.
Harry does look up then, green eyes wary above his arms. “Like, give me moral support or whatever you’re doing.”
“Hmm,” Liam says. “I’m just resting, man. I didn’t say anything.”
Harry grunts like he doesn’t believe him, but he goes back to resting his forehead against his forearm, face out of view.
“If you did want to tell me what’s wrong though,” Liam says casually, “I would listen. Just. So you know.” He’s usually good at this with people he knows, at being there for them and supporting them; he’s good at it with Niall, he bets he would be good at it with Louis, but with Harry he’s never quite sure he’s on the right path, never quite sure he knows what’s going on.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry snaps, and okay, so Liam was on the wrong path there. He shrugs.
“Okay,” he says simply. He rubs his palms over his jeans, over his thighs where his muscles ache.
Harry groans then, lets his head fall back against the wall with his eyes closed. “I sounded terrible tonight,” he says, and okay, Liam doesn’t know why he decided to start talking, but he promised to listen and he will.
“I sounded terrible recording today and I’m not done writing and we’re almost done with our studio time,” he says. He does open his eyes then and looks at Liam.
“We’re almost done here,” he repeats after a heavy moment of silence.
Liam’s a bit lost for words, because he doesn’t know anything about this, and he thought Harry sounded the same as ever tonight but that’s probably not the right thing to say. “Yeah?” he asks, buying time. “We’ll have to cook up a goodbye bash.”
Harry stares at him and then lets his eyes close again, banging his head against the wall once. “Yeah,” he says finally, his voice choked.
Liam scrambles for something better, more comforting to say. “I’m sure it will all come together,” he says, and tries to sound confident. “If you needed to, you could record more in London, no?” he asks.
Harry keeps his eyes closed still and seems to be counting softly to himself. “Yes, but -“ he starts to say, and then cuts himself off abruptly.
He shakes his hair out of his face and then runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply a few times. “Okay, I’m better,” he announces, and partially sounds like he’s trying to convince himself but Liam wouldn’t point that out. Harry clambers to his feet awkwardly and then comes to help Liam up.
When they’re face to face, Liam’s hands still in Harry’s, Harry looks at him seriously and says, “Let’s get drunk, okay?”
Liam laughs and pulls his hands away. “That’s more Niall’s area of expertise, I’m sure he won’t say no,” he says. Harry throws an arm around his shoulders as they walk down the hall and after a moment, he pinches Liam’s nipple, and yeah, he’s okay.
Liam keeps thinking about it though. We’re almost done here, Harry had said, and Liam hadn’t even noticed how quickly the time had gone, the boys had been in town close to two months and soon they’d be gone, and then.
Then what?
On Friday he gets through class dreaming of his bed. He has dinner with the boys planned, but first he’ll have plenty of time for a nap and he needs it. He hasn’t been sleeping well at all, not for days.
He drags himself home, weary shoulders slumped under the weight of his book bag and his exhaustion. He should be surprised but can’t bring himself to it, when he spots Harry waiting outside his building, leaned against the bricks with his eyes closed and his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“I don’t think Niall’s home,” he says, probably grumpy, as he walks by Harry and goes to unlock the front door. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Harry shift and stand straight, waiting next to Liam.
“Who says I’m here to see Niall?” he asks evenly, and Liam doesn’t answer but does hold the door open for him.
As they make their way upstairs Harry swings an arm around his shoulder. It’s weird - weird that he’s here unannounced, weird that he’s touching Liam. It wouldn’t be if it were Niall, or Zayn, or even Louis, but it’s weird when Harry does it and that’s probably not fair. Liam wants to tell him his arm is heavy, adding to the weight of his books and his sore shoulders, but instead he just heaves a sigh and keeps moving toward his room.
“Everything all right?” Harry asks, and Liam’s in the process of shrugging, not in the mood to answer, when Harry’s hand twitches and suddenly he’s twisting Liam’s nipple and Liam should have seen that coming but he didn’t, blind-sided by his own bad mood.
“Jesus, man,” he says irritably, twisting away and feeling annoyed by the mischievous smirk on Harry’s face. He slides his key into the lock of his room and pushes in, dropping his bag on the floor, finally, his back screaming with relief, and kicking off his shoes, not caring where they land. By the time he’s turned around Harry’s already hopped up into his bed, settling on the edge and smiling at him, easy and carefree and all Liam wants is quiet and dark and his bed to himself.
“I was gonna take a nap,” Liam tells him, and hopes it’s a strong enough hint. He walks over to the bed, leaning down to grab some socks out of the drawers underneath it, and then looks at Harry plaintively while he pulls them on.
“I could go for a nap,” Harry says, and Liam is perched on one leg, sliding on a sock, thinking moodily, it wasn’t an invitation, when Harry kicks out a leg, catching him lightly in the balls and sending him terribly off balance, stumbling backwards where he catches himself on his desk chair.
“Damnit, Harry, stop,” he says, finally cracking, as close to yelling as he gets. “Will you stop annoying me? I’m not in the mood.”
Harry looks taken aback then, and unsure, and Liam doesn’t like it on him, doesn’t like causing it. He takes a deep breath and falls into his desk chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, his voice still tight and irritated and he doesn’t know how to stop. “I know you’re just screwing around and I know it’s your last week here and I want to go out and have fun but I’m so tired and I just need some quiet and a nap and I’ll be fine and we’ll - we’ll be fine, okay?”
Harry is quiet and Liam presses his fingertips into his temples, easing the ache there, before he looks up. Harry’s face is blank, neutral, and when Liam meets his eyes he slides off the bed carefully, finding his feet.
“Okay,” he says simply. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”
Liam stands then, pushing in his desk chair and feeling like shit on so many levels. “Don’t,” he says. “Okay? Just don’t.” He puts his hand on his bed, ready to turn the lights out and crawl in and forget this entire day. “I’ll see you tonight and it will be fine,” he goes on when Harry doesn’t turn to leave. “It will be fine.”
He’s standing there, stupid, his stupid hand on his stupid bed and suddenly Harry is crowding into him, and this has happened before. Liam remembers the feeling, the snow dripping from Harry’s hair onto Liam, how cold they were, but now they are dry and warm and Harry is there and pressing into him, and this time he turns his face up and Liam doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what is happening, and so he barely breathes and Harry’s lips finds the corner of his own, pressing in, dry and soft and insistent, one kiss, two, and then he freezes.
They are stock still and silent. Liam finally breathes out, once, sharply, and Harry’s close and looking at him with wide eyes full of - Liam doesn’t know. He realizes Harry’s hands are somewhere on his hips but his own hang, limp and awkward, at his sides.
He can’t help but think of Louis’s words - just fucking with you - and Niall, it’s fun getting a rise out of you, mate, and Liam is so tired, confused, white noise buzzing beneath his skin.
“I’m really tired, Harry,” he says, and it’s such work to keep his voice steady and calm. Harry steps back and looks like someone has slapped him out of a stupor.
“Right,” Harry says, and his hands fall away. Liam pretends he imagines seeing them shake and looks away, obstinate, toward his bed.
Harry’s backing away now, like he can’t get out fast enough, tripping over his own feet and reaching behind him, scrabbling for the doorknob.
“I’ll see you at dinner?” he says, voice higher than normal and already turning away. Liam doesn’t think he could move if he tried.
“See you at dinner,” he says, and doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, until the door clicks shut behind him.
Liam doesn’t wake up until it’s dark out and he wonders where Niall is, why he didn’t wake him up and remind him about dinner, and then he looks at his phone, set on silent since Liam crawled into bed, and sees the lists of texts there: Niall, Zayn, Louis.
He calls Niall while he searches for anything acceptable to wear to the restaurant.
“I fell asleep,” he says as soon as Niall picks up.
“We already ordered,” Niall tells him, and Liam can hear Louis yelling in the background but he can’t concentrate enough to figure out what he’s saying.
“Okay,” Liam says, and he picks a fleece out of his hamper and tries to put it over his head while keeping his phone pressed to his ear. “It’s okay, I’m not that hungry. I’m leaving right now, be there soon.”
It’s a tiny little Italian restaurant maybe eight blocks from their building and Liam walks quickly, ducking inside just as their food arrives.
“I ordered you ravioli,” Niall says, and gives him a mean look before breaking into a grin. Liam tries to smooth down his hair and slides into the empty seat between Niall and Zayn, and it’s a round table and tiny and of course he’s looking right at Harry.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at nobody and everybody at the same time. “I have no idea how I slept so long.”
“You’re probably slipping into a depression due to our imminent departure,” Louis says, reaching across Niall to pat his arm. “I do hope this won’t be too hard on you.”
“I’ll try to go on, though it will be hard,” Liam says back, drily. Zayn leans into him, and then reaches for the bottle of red wine in the middle of table, pouring Liam a generous glass.
Liam cuts his ravioli into pieces and pretends he can’t feel Harry’s eyes boring into the top of his head. Harry doesn’t say a word to him the entire night.
“Niall?” Liam asks. They’re back in their room, already in bed - but Liam slept all afternoon and he knows it will be a long night.
Niall doesn’t answer right away and Liam thinks maybe he’s already drifted off, but then his voice comes, slow and sleepy. “Yeah?”
Liam shifts around, unable to formulate the right words, unable to admit certain things, still. “Did -“ he starts, but that isn’t right. “Do you -“
He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “Do you remember the last pub quiz night?” he asks finally. “When Lou and Harry came?”
“Yeah,” Niall says, drowsy still. Liam reaches behind his head and rearranges a pillow to support his neck better.
“Do you remember - did you meet the girl that Harry picked up that night?”
Niall takes a moment to answer again but when he does he sounds more awake than a moment before. “Harry met a girl?”
The creeping dread that Liam’s been pushing down all night starts to rise up again. “Yeah,” he says. “Caroline.”
Liam can hear Niall shifting in the other bed, probably turning to face him, not like they could see each other in the dark. “No,” Niall says slowly. “I never saw her.”
“Do you know if he,” Liam goes on, and he stops to swallow, to steady his voice. “Do you know if he went home with her?”
“No,” Niall says, instantaneous and sure enough to make Liam’s stomach plummet. “No, we went to the hotel that night and played FIFA and fell asleep on the floor.”
Liam doesn’t answer because he can’t, he’s staring at the ceiling, his skin is itching and crawling and he’s trying to figure out the game, put the pieces together - Harry and his apple trick and his smiles, pinching and pulling at Liam, smiling at him over a beer, eating soup with him, reading what he’s reading, holding his pinky finger and sleeping in his bed, making him snow angels and poking him and prodding him and laughing at him and lying to him.
He’s thinking about it and feeling sicker and sicker and he almost misses it when Niall says, “I've never seen him go home with anyone,” and Liam just wants to pretend to be asleep but not to Niall, Niall would know, so he swallows it all down and tries to sound casual when he says, “Okay,” when he says, “I guess I was confused,” when he says, “Good night, Niall,” and doesn’t go to sleep at all.
In the morning he hears Niall wake up, but he pretends he’s still sleeping, turned toward the wall, and eventually Niall leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. Only then does he heave himself out of bed and down the hall into the bathroom, he feels sick, and then he goes into the kitchen and the only thing that sounds good is black tea, so he tries to make his mind calm and blank and he makes it, and he sits at his desk and drinks it and stares out the window and tries not to think about anything at all.
He’s back in bed by the time Niall returns in the early afternoon. He peeks out from under the covers and Niall is looking at him, concerned.
“Are you okay, mate?” he asks, walking closer to Liam’s bed.
Liam turns and moves the covers so he can see all of Niall. “Yeah,” he says pathetically, and lets his face drop toward the pillow. “Don’t feel good.”
Niall pats his covered hip gently before he moves away. “Poor Leemo,” he says. “You need anything?”
“No,” Liam says, honestly. His appetite’s been gone all day, nothing sounds good.
Niall looks at him a little longer, pulling a face. “Think you’ll be able to come tonight? Boys’ll be gutted if you don’t.”
Liam screws his eyes shut, he doesn’t really want to think about it, but he supposes he can’t really skip. If he made it through last night, he can do it tonight. One more time, and then it will be over. His stomach twists painfully at the thought.
Niall is still staring at him, looking more concerned, when Liam finally opens his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he says. Better not to make any promises.
“Okay,” Niall says finally. “I’m going with Zayn, he’s getting an NYC tattoo,” Niall tells him. “You wanna come?”
“No,” Liam says.
“All right,” Niall says, “Well, text me if you need anything,” and then he’s gone again.
He must drift off at some point, and maybe he really is sick, with all this random sleeping and not sleeping, or maybe he’s just sick in his mind. He has time before the club, they’ll be there all night, and when he wakes up he stretches out over his bed and scrolls through his texts, not yet ready to get up and get dressed and face the night.
Niall: still ok? Need anything?
Niall: we’re going tat->hotel->fooooood->club so I won’t be back, unless u want me to swing by and get u
Niall: ur still coming right?
Zayn: coming tonight? Tat hurts, need loving care aha :) x
Zayn: leeeeeeeeyummm
Harry: are you coming tonight?
Harry: i’ll leave you alone if you want
Harry: liam?
Louis: red trousers or black?
Louis: blue
Louis: you always know what to say payno
Liam closes his eyes, just for a minute, just to wrap his mind around the people he knows and the life he is currently living. Then he forces himself up, stretches through his stiffness, and gets ready to get on with it.
He walks to the club, more than twenty blocks, and when he gets inside it’s Zayn he finds first, tucked into a booth in the corner by himself, bent over his phone texting, and Liam is flooded with a wash of fondness and affection.
Zayn looks up. “Liam,” he says, his face breaking into an easy smile, and he’s still so beautiful, as beautiful as he was six months ago when Liam first saw him in the lights of the stage.
Liam slides into the booth next to him, an arm around his thin shoulders. “Don’t leave me,” he says, leaning in close to Zayn’s ear, because he doesn’t want it, doesn’t want Zayn to leave, and he’s so tired of everything but honesty.
Zayn leans into him, smelling of smoke and sweat, and he’s smiling, his teeth against Liam’s neck. “Come to London!” he yells over the sound of the music, and Liam wants it for a moment, wants to go to London and wander the streets and stand next to Zayn while he smokes in alleys.
“Harry said that, once,” Liam says, remembering suddenly. It feels so long ago. Liam’s eyes sweep the room and he just catches a glimpse of Harry’s hair out on the dance floor, bouncing away.
Zayn’s eyes seems to follow his. “He got started early today,” Zayn says, and the song ends so his voice is momentarily too loud. “He’s a bit worse for the wear, now.”
“Aren’t we all,” Liam says, and Zayn motions that he can’t hear him as a new song starts up, but Liam doesn’t repeat it.
He finds Louis by the bathroom. “So you settled on blue,” he says, taking in Louis’s trousers, rolled to the ankle like always, soothing in its familiarity. Somehow Liam feels nostalgic about it already, Louis is right here, in front of him, but Liam can already feel what it will be like in a month, a year, when he’ll be walking down Sixth Avenue and see someone who isn’t Louis wearing bright trousers, rolled up, and he’ll think of Louis, continents away, oceans between them.
But for now Louis is here, right in front of him. He raises an eyebrow, careful. “No thanks to you,” he sniffs disdainfully, but it doesn’t hold and before he knows it Liam has an armful of Louis, so maybe he’s not the only one feeling off and sentimental.
They make their way back to the booth and Zayn, and Niall finds them eventually, sliding Liam a half drunk gin and tonic that he finishes gratefully, his mouth dry. Liam catches glimpses of Harry while people come and go from their booth, saying hello, saying goodbye - Harry by the bar, waving down a bartender, Harry leaning over a small blonde girl, hand on the back of her head as he strains to hear, Harry on the dance floor, a smile stretched over his face as he bounces along to a Jay Z song.
Harry never glances over at the booth and somehow every time he doesn’t, Liam is left feeling angrier, his grip on his glass tightening, his teeth grinding until a headache blooms behind his eyes. He feels that familiar illness, a roll in his stomach, a tightness in his throat, an ache in his bones. The air in the club is thick and damp, stifling, it’s taking its toll. It smells like sweat and Liam hates it a little bit. He feels dirty and his clothes are going to smell and he wishes he were back in bed, he wishes he were in a shower, and he’s not in the mood for pretending so he pushes out of their booth and into the crowd, looking for Niall, to make sure he wants to stay and let him know that Liam doesn’t.
He doesn’t find Niall, he finds Harry - rather, Harry finds him, stumbling out of the crowd and face lighting up as he falls right into Liam, steadying himself on either of Liam’s arms.
“Li!” he shouts, and it’s loud in the club but not loud enough for him to shout in Liam’s face. “You came!”
“I came,” Liam says drily, pulling back the slightest bit. “I saw. I’m leaving.” He glances around, because if Harry’s here maybe Niall is nearby, but Liam doesn’t see him.
“No,” Harry says, and he leans in closer again, his hands on Liam’s back in some kind of aborted hug. He looks so sad suddenly, green eyes glassy and big, and Liam flicks a glance over him; perfectly tousled hair, stretched out t-shirt, impossibly tight pants. He drags his eyes back up, over the streaks of red lipstick painted across the column of Harry’s throat, almost violent looking. A laugh bubbles in his chest.
Harry goes along with it, lips quirking in a smile when he sees Liam. “What?” he asks.
Liam leans in closer then, and Harry’s smile grows, looking amused and curious, waiting, and then Liam swipes the pad of his thumb over Harry’s neck, gentle even though he doesn’t want to be, and it pulls away crimson. He holds it up and Harry stills, smile still frozen on his face.
“You’ve got a little something,” Liam says, ice cold, and he jerks away, away, away and out of the club. He’ll have to text Niall. He can’t stay any longer.
He doesn’t turn his phone on until he’s had two cups of coffee the next morning and when he does there are more texts than he can count. Of course, many from Niall -
Niall: no don’t go
Niall: u went???
Niall: ur phone’s off?????
Niall: staying @ the hotel don’t w8 up
Niall: ur already asleep arent ya
And strangely, one from Zayn, sent just a few minutes ago, that says: brekkie, mate? x :)
Liam looks at it for awhile, thinking and not thinking, and then types back, yeh, ok. meet me outside in 30?
The response comes immediately, see you soon x.
It occurs to Liam belatedly that he should have made sure it was just Zayn coming, but once he reads the texts from Harry, Liam’s fairly sure he’ll be down for the count for awhile yet.
Harry: wish u hadn’t left
Harry: wish u’d never leave
Harry: don’t read that don’t read anything 2mrw k
Harry: but sry about the lipstick
Harry: and everything
Harry: anything
Harry: just don’t be mad at me
Harry: just like me please
Harry: please
Harry: i’ll be better i’ll make it easier
Harry: liam please
Harry: liam this is lou. READ THIS FIRST READ IT FIRST***!!!. if you’ve ever liked any of us at all please delete everything styles sent you tonight w.o reading. thx.
Liam can’t deal with it, can’t deal with any of it at all so he just crawls back into bed and pulls the covers over his head until Zayn texts him that he’s outside.
Liam didn’t even stay out that late, barely drank at all, and he’s still sure he looks like hell, yet Zayn looks as perfect as ever, maybe even more so, all tired eyes and rumpled hair above his leather jacket and dark pants.
“All right, mate?” Zayn asks, stamping out his cigarette as Liam steps out of his building, squinting against the bright morning sun.
“Okay,” Liam says. He wonders why Zayn asked him to breakfast, but he doesn’t ask, just suggests a café on Bleecker that has French toast Liam dies for.
They walk quietly, arms swinging between them. Liam’s always thought it a little funny, this quietness of New York City on Sunday morning, quieter than any other time he’s found, but it’s always been like this and it’s comforting.
For some reason Liam has it in his head that Zayn is going to yell at him, or something, even though he’s never so much as heard Zayn raise his voice or look more than mildly annoyed. Liam keeps waiting for it, tense, but Zayn looks relaxed as they walk, and when they sit down he orders them coffee and scrolls through his phone, hardly paying Liam any attention at all.
Liam coughs and he looks up. “Not that this isn’t nice,” he says, “But is there a reason we’re doing this?”
Zayn’s eyebrow goes up. He puts his phone away and the waitress comes back with their coffee. He smiles up at her and takes a long drink before he turns his attention back to Liam.
“You didn’t say goodbye last night,” he says. It’s just a statement of fact, he doesn’t sound mad or even curious, really, but Liam still feels like he’s flushing.
“Sorry,” he says, and stammers around for a bit. “Wasn’t feeling well.”
Zayn takes another drink of his coffee and eyes Liam over the rim of his mug. “You seemed okay earlier,” he notes, still entirely neutral. Before Liam can come up with anything else, he asks, “Are you okay now?” and it seems completely genuine and Liam doesn’t know what his problem is. He puts milk in his coffee and relaxes back.
“I feel,” he says, and doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He shrugs.
Zayn nods like he said something of substance. He stretches his arms over his head. “Yeah, man,” he says finally. He looks out the window they’re seated next to, the people passing back and forth, unhurried, some of them still in pajamas, some still in last night’s clothes. “I miss home, but at the same time, it’s going to be hard to leave.” Liam just looks out the window stubbornly, not saying anything, not sure that he could, so Zayn eventually goes on. “This city is something else.”
“Something else,” Liam repeats when he finds his voice, his eyes moving restlessly over the scenes outside their window, searching and searching.
The eat slowly and talk about the things they’ve done in the past few months, what they’re going to do in the next few.
“You should come to London over break,” Zayn says, hopeful. “You can stay with me. Nialler can come over from Ireland.”
Liam barely looks up from his food, unable to meet Zayn’s eye, because he’s had this conversation before. “I have to work all summer,” he says. “I need the money.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything and when Liam looks up, he looks disappointed, and Liam can’t handle that. “Someday soon,” Liam says to appease him, “As soon as I can afford it,” and he’s not sure Zayn believes him but he drops it regardless.
They take their time ambling back to Liam’s building, enjoying the relatively quiet morning even as the energy in the city begins to pick back up. It’s getting warm again and Liam turns his head up, closes his eyes, pretends he’s somewhere else.
Liam sees him as soon as they turn onto his block. Slumped against the wall with his head down, his form is unmistakable, and surely Zayn must see him too but he doesn’t say anything until they get closer and Harry’s head pops up.
“Haz,” Zayn says as they approach, and holds out a hand, low, for Harry to slap, which he does. Zayn doesn’t ask why he’s there, just turns toward Liam and smiles a little, a cigarette already tucked behind his ear for the walk home.
“Am I going to see you again?” Zayn asks him, low, and Harry steps away, inspecting a plaque on the wall down the street as if they need privacy.
Something tugs in Liam’s chest, he doesn’t want this to be goodbye, he hates goodbyes. “I don’t know,” he says, and shrugs. “Maybe,” and he knows the reality is probably not but he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to make it final.
Zayn just smiles at him. “Alright,” he says, “Maybe,” and he steps forward, engulfing Liam in a hug. He smells like smoke and coffee and Liam inhales as deeply as he can, to remember.
Zayn pulls away and Liam watches him walk away. “Bye, Zayn,” he calls, when Zayn’s halfway down the block. Zayn half turns, blows a kiss at him.
“Bye, Liam!” he calls. “I love you! Love you forever!” He turns away, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and Liam watches him and smiles until he’s gone.
He’d almost forgotten Harry was there, and when he turns Harry is watching him, his face drawn and dull, and the anxiety Liam had felt earlier in the morning comes rushing back. “Did you want to come in?” Liam asks, pulling his keys out. Harry only shrugs, but he follows Liam in, wordless until they get up to his room.
Harry sits on the edge of Liam’s bed, still slumped and drawn, and runs his hands over his face a few times. Liam feels jittery and anxious, finally sitting in his own desk chair, turning it towards Harry.
Harry opens his mouth finally and Liam braces himself, but what comes out is, “You had breakfast with Zayn?”
Liam’s confused. “Yeah,” he says. “Breakfast. Brunch. Whatever you call it.” Harry nods, looking around the room, everywhere but Liam, and finally at his own hands.
“You’re into him, aren’t you?” Harry asks. His head is down, hair covering most of his face, but Liam is used to that. “Zayn.”
The thing is that Liam isn’t. He was once, for two hours or so, there and gone just as quick. Even though the question catches him off guard, his mind responds immediately, resoundingly, no. Liam still adores him, but it’s the same way he adores Niall, adores Louis. So there’s no reason, none at all, for Liam to shrug, like he doesn’t know, like he doesn’t want to admit. He knows. His mind and his heart both say no, but his shoulders say, I don’t know, or maybe even, I guess, and Harry glances up just long enough to see it.
He shakes his hair out of his face but his eyes stay down as he rises, turns, offers his own shrug. “Figures,” he says finally, and when he leaves the room the door closes so quietly behind him, and Liam barely notices, still caught on the waver of his voice.
They leave on a Tuesday afternoon in March, and all day Liam waits for it to feel over, waits to start feeling different, maybe like his old self again, or maybe like someone new. He doesn’t.
The semester passes and in Liam’s memory it’s all washed out, a blur of days in the library and sleeping and he passes his finals and goes home where it’s quiet and everything is small and suffocating. He works in the factory with his father and lines his pockets with cash he’ll need next semester, sweats and works harder than he’s ever done before, but he’s busy and it’s easier to keep his mind blank. One day when’s it hotter than usual and stuffy in the building, he leaves and walks over to the barber on the next block over, asks them to buzz all his hair off. When it’s done he looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself (tries to remember the last time he did). He runs his hand over it and it’s too soft.
Liam doesn’t feel like he’s disappearing, he only wishes that he were.
five