big bang fic!: we press play don't press pause

[snuffleslove]

They leave rehearsal in high spirits but by Thursday Liam and Zayn are still struggling. On Thursday evening she sends the rest of the company packing and holds the pair back. They exchange nervous glances and sit cross legged in front of her, both fidgeting with the light material of their trousers.

"I do not want you to be discouraged Liam," she begins, accent catching on his name, "There is a reason I do not allow people to join so late. It is hard to get them to synchronize with the rest of the company if I have not begun to mold them from the time they are learning to walk itself. And it is not simply about the movements. Zayn will tell you that it is about - thinking together, breathing together, being together." She pauses for a moment, and Zayn sees her face grow wistful. "When I was studying in Chennai, the men and women I danced with were my family. I cared very deeply for them. Maybe even more so than my own flesh and blood." she chuckles to herself. "My husband would not be so happy to hear that, I think."

Zayn's not sure whether to laugh or cry. He tries to keep his features neutral as she studies them both.

"I was not wrong when I detected a strong connection between the two of you. I thought that since you were already Zayn's family, Liam, that you would meld right into Zayn in dance too. But I have underestimated Zayn's stubbornness. He keeps you at arm's length, does he not?" Zayn turns away against Liam's hesitant nod. "I would like to see if I can change that. I am not sure if Sailaja has told you, but awhile ago I challenged them with the choreography of a very beautiful, very famous song," Zayn snaps up. She can't mean - "It is much lighter than the usual classical dance Zayn is used to. In fact, it is much more up your alley."

Liam nods.

"I've seen it," he says. "At least I think I have." Master Garu beams at him.

"There's a small charity show going on this weekend. It is a Sunday, so it will not interfere with your marching band commitments. I would like you two to perform that song there."

Zayn's mouth drops open.

"That's. But that's - "

"A love song," Liam finishes faintly.

"We need one boy and one girl don't we?" Zayn asks desperately. "Surely we - "

"You will play the girl Zayn," she says firmly. Zayn blushes red and she gives him an amused smile. "Who do you think played the female characters when girls were not yet allowed to dance? And we have plenty of girls here who are forced to play male roles. You will manage, ma." Zayn cringes.

"I - " but he breaks off at her severe look.

"I've booked you studio time. Friday night, Saturday morning. People will be paying good money to watch you dance. Do not disappoint me." She fishes in her bag for a CD. "I've already given word to the orchestra. They will rehearse with you Saturday. Friday night is all yours. Good luck."

They stand when she stands but Zayn can't move any further than that. He watches her gather her things carefully, shifting his weight from right to left as he does.

"Lights off when you leave," is all she says before she exits the room.

Zayn turns to Liam finally, wants to know what he's thinking, but he just offers him a small smile.

"Can I hear the song?" he nods towards the CD in Zayn's hand. Zayn shrugs. Why not, right? He pops the CD in and Liam sinks to the floor, tucking his chin into his knees and closing his eyes. Zayn watches his features relax and his body move to the melody like it can't help itself and, god, he would love to see Liam in this, to be beside Liam in this. He pauses the song, jolting Liam out of his daze.

"Do you want to - I mean," he hesitates, blushing. What if Liam thinks this absolutely crazy? What if he doesn't want to dance next to Zayn at all? But Liam grins at him.

"Will you tell me the story? What the lyrics mean?" Liam asks shyly, eyes hopeful. Zayn swallows.

"Yeah, um," he clears his throat, "It's not my language but I know most of it." Liam's nodding at him eagerly, so Zayn continues, "Ok, so just a quick rundown of the basic mythology yeah? You'll need it for most of what we do here." Liam nods. "So in Hinduism - and I'm not an expert, yeah? You should ask Sailaja's mom, but um - there are three main gods, like a holy trinity kind of thing I guess. Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the protector, and Shiva, the destroyer. Vishnu, well he has um, ten reincarnations -"

"which you show in Dashavataram1," Liam supplies, butchering the pronunciation but impressing Zayn nonetheless, "That one you did as a group was one of my favorites," Liam adds.

"Oh. Um. Yeah, Sailaja's brilliant in that one," Zayn says, finding it hard to control his awe at Liam's knowledge.

"You are too," Liam tells him with a shy fondess and Zayn blushes. He was cast center stage in that dance, playing each of Vishnu's ten reincarnations one after another as his dance sisters changed characters around him, acting out each scene.

"Thanks," he mumbles, "Anyway, so. One of his reincarnations is Krishna, yeah? Who's a boy who grows up living simply in a beautiful village. The interesting thing about him, and my favorite part," Zayn can't help but add, "is that he knew he was a God, yeah? And yet he was constantly doing cheeky things, causing trouble, being a nuisance for his mother, and flirting with all the girls. There's this story where the girls from the village go to bathe in the nearby river and he steals all their clothes."

Liam chuckles, and Zayn smiles, pleased, "Anyway, so he and one girl, Radha were best friends, and maybe even lovers? I'm always unclear about that. Anyway, Krishna would always flirt with all the other girls too, gopikas, they were called, so Radha would get jealous," he takes a deep breath, "the song we're doing is from a movie called Lagaan, and in it the girl is singing to the guy about how Radha is jealous watching Krishna fawn over other girls. And um, the guy tells her," he blushes, "how beautiful Radha is, how um. If these other girls are stars then Radha is the moon, how he'll always be searching for her. How they could never compare to her, how he'll always love her."

"That's beautiful," Liam says sincerely after a moment.

"Yeah um. Have you seen the choreo?"

"S'been a while, but yeah, I think so. It's quite intimate, isn't it?" Liam asks carefully.

"Yeah. It's um. I mean Sailu and I choreographed it for the two of us, I never thought. I mean, you can always back out you know, if you don't want to -" Zayn breaks off. It's true, the choreo is definitely more amorous than his teacher would have done. He and Sailaja spent hours on it, trying to find a balance between the intimacy the lyrics called for and the rigid rules of classical dance. Zayn remembers being nervous to perform it in front of his teacher, afraid that they had taken it too far.

He clears his throat, looks up to find Liam is shaking his head in disbelief.

"You have no faith in me do you?" he asks softly, and Zayn frowns, not quite understanding.

"I don't - "

"I would never give up dancing with you," Liam tells him firmly. "And yes, I'm sure. Do you want to get started now or -?" The words settle in Zayn's skin and heart and stomach, making his pulse race and palms sweat. Liam wants to dance with him, wants to share breath and movements and a stage with him. And his teacher's choreography is one thing, but this song is Zayn's. The part he's about to teach Liam is all Zayn's hard work and late nights and Liam wants to learn it, wants to dance with Zayn. Christ, he's in trouble.

They end up spending hours in the studio that night, even with impending classes next morning and Liam's football game. Liam's determined and stubborn and he wants to learn everything tonight, is eager to keep going. They work slowly, not because Liam's slow, but because he's a perfectionist. He keeps Zayn on his toes, asking question after question about what a certain hand movement means, or what the rhythm of that step is and Zayn enjoys it. He complains about it more often than not but really, he likes teaching, and he's good at it, especially with a focused pupil.

When they reach the end and have run it a few times (not together, Zayn can't handle that tonight, instead, he watches Liam from his teacher's spot, and the choreo looks bare without the opposing girl's role, but Zayn tells himself it's necessary) Liam collapses onto the worn wooden floor, spread eagle and drained, panting hard. Zayn snorts, settles down next to him. There's silence except for the spinning of the CD where it stays paused in the player, and Liam's heartbeat made fast by the exercise.

"You did good," Zayn tells him softly.

"God, your praise is harder to come by than Master Garu's," Liam teases, and Zayn wrinkles his nose.

"Shut up. No I mean it. Really good. Tomorrow will be a breeze." He watches the lines in Liam's throat as he swallows.

"Tomorrow will be - interesting," Liam agrees after a moment, turning on his side to smile up at Zayn. Zayn can see beads of sweat threaten to spill over his short hair into his eyes, and without thinking he reaches out, swipes the drops away. Liam lets out a rush of air, looks up at him with an intent that Zayn can't place.

And then Liam shakes his hair out, splays Zayn with sweat, and Zayn yelps, indignant, and the moment passes.

"I hate you," Zayn mutters, half-heartedly wiping at his face.

"Yeah?" Liam asks innocently, turning to lay his head in Zayn's lap and look up at him with sparkling eyes. Zayn tries, he swears he does.

"No," he admits defeat finally, helping Liam up. Liam hums his delight, sinking into a namaskaram so beautifully that Zayn catches his breath. And it's stupid really. Zayn's watched Liam perform exquistely all night and yet.

"Zayn?" Liam arches an eyebrow. "You gonna - ?"

"What? Oh yeah," he mimics Liam's namaskaram and then rises.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow?" Liam asks him softly, once Zayn's finished stubbing his cig out on the pavement outside their studio. (Their studio. Christ.)

"Course, Li," Zayn tries for a charming smile. "Yeah."



"Expecting someone else?" Harry smirks, laughing at Zayn's frantic shake of head. So he'd grown used to Liam showing up at his locker after class, ready to drag him to rehearsal. Nothing to report, move along. "It's game day," Harry reminds him, hitting him rather unfairly on the head with a bleacher cushion he's carrying. Those were purchased after around the third game their freshman year, when Harry had announced that he and Zayn were going to attend every football game of the season, to ogle a certain drummer boy in the back. The spiked soda bottles Harry carries in his other hand were added on after Doniya graduated. Speaking of which -

Zayn slams his locker shut and grabs his backpack.

"Hey Haz, what's going on between Niall and Doniya?" Harry chuckles almost sheepishly.

"Uh, nothing? Not yet anyway. He's uh, waiting to ask for your permission," Harry teases. They move outside into the brisk autumn air, make their way towards Zayn's car.

"Christ," Zayn mutters, "How did that even happen?" Zayn shoves his books inside, then takes Harry's proffered cushion and drink.

"Who'dya think let us know that your teacher was looking for an orchestra?" Harry asks slowly, studying Zayn as he lights a cig. "You know, she could do a lot worse. Niall's one of the good ones -"

"No, I know that, I just - "

"And your mum probably already knows, they're both not exactly very subtle about it - "

"It's fine, Haz, really," Zayn interrupts, before Harry can get carried away. "You know how my mum is about this kind of stuff." Harry smiles sincerely, gives him a small nod. "I'm just surprised, yeah? I mean he's two years younger than her."

"He's really nervous about talking to you," Harry begins thoughtfully, "Every time we've almost got him convinced to just do it, he comes back like, bloody hell, it's his sister though," Harry makes a poor attempt at Niall's accent, and then a sly grin spreads out across his face, "You could play it out a little, make him sweat." Zayn barks out a surprised laugh.

"You're horrible," Zayn tells him fondly, "C'mon," he cups the back Harry's neck, stubs out his cig. "Let's go admire the arse on a certain man in uniform."

They find their usual corner, on the fifty and right by the box and Harry settles into Zayn, absentmindedly scanning the field where the football teams are warming up. They're early and the student body is trickling in slowly, laughter and the smell of fried food pervading the crowd in waves. It's one of the last home games of the season so it usually prompts a good turn out and today's no exception. Harry's constantly finding someone he knows among the hordes, waving two fingers or sending them a smile, even making the effort to strike up small conversation with a group that settles in front of him. Zayn remains quiet by his side, keeps his eyes to himself. He doesn't want to say that these four boys are his only friends at school, but they kind of are.

The thing is, Zayn's never been very good at making friends. He and Harry were kind of thrown together, because Anne was the first (and only) to ever bother welcoming the new family on the block. When she found out that Zayn and her son Harry were the same age she was thrilled, insisting that Zayn be allowed over for a play date. Now, she loves to tell a story (one that Harry will always claim is false) about how Zayn's the only reason Harry's ever managed to sit still.

They became fast friends because, well, it's kind of impossible not to like Harry. Even when he was younger he was charming and just the right amount of cheeky and he got Zayn to say more than a few words at once and suddenly they were best mates. And then Niall came along a short while later at Harry's insistence, noticed Zayn was different even at that young age and yet embraced it, insisting on being invited over for dinner often and allowing the rest of Zayn's family to fuss over his obnoxiously blonde head of hair.

Louis happened a bit differently. If Zayn closes his eyes he can remember the first time Louis set foot in the Malik household. Harry had tugged him through the front door and straight into the kitchen, cleared his throat. He had been nervous, like Zayn had never seen him before, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Tricia to realize they were holding hands. When she'd looked up he had given her a shy smile.

"I'm gay," he'd said quietly, "And this is Louis, my boyfriend. And I really needed you to know because you're like a mum to me and - " Zayn’s mum had cut him off with a hug, pulling both of them into her dirty apron and kissing the tops of their heads.

"Stay for dinner?" is all she'd said. Zayn had let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

And Liam, well. Liam sort of snuck up on Zayn, settling quietly into any nooks and crannies he could find, borrowing comic books and bollywood movies and then perching at the edge of Zayn's bed to discuss them in earnest. He accompanied Zayn's sisters and mum to Zayn's dance competitions, often insisting on driving if it was far away, and he tried all the food, endured all the curious stares, watched all the performances, good and bad. It was Liam who realized how bad the bullying had gotten, Liam who always made sure he was on top of the latest news, Liam who spoke out fiercely against any attacks that came Zayn's way. And it was Liam, too, who first showed him the draw of other dance forms, lying on their stomachs and showing him video after video of jazz, modern, contemporary; when Zayn turned seventeen, Liam had bought him two tickets to the ballet, blushing and ducking his head to insist that he didn't have to take Liam, that he could go with anyone he wanted.

Obviously, Zayn had taken him. He still can't forget the way that boy filled out a suit.

"Zayn? You alright?" Harry waves a hand in front of his face, and Zayn catches it by the wrist, uses it to bring the other boy even closer into him. Harry giggles, obviously surprised at the affection, and Zayn feels a tinge of guilt.

"Love you, you know that right?" he mumbles, embarrassed but determined. The look on Harry's face is worth it. "Don't think I don't know who's the mastermind behind our gorra2 orchestra." he teases one of his curls. There's a hollering from below and out of the corner of his eye Zayn watches the cheerleaders enter, hears the distant build of the cadence, but Harry's eyes don't leave his.

"We worked it out together," Harry insists, but he turns his hand, interlaces their fingers. "Love you too." He uncaps his bottle of coke and rum and clinks the cheap plastic against Zayn's with a small smile. Zayn drinks obediently, relishing the slow burn and the warmth it provides them against the late afternoon chill. "Hey, it's Perrie," Harry points out after a moment, offering her a wave when she smiles up at him from the bottom of the bleachers. Zayn waves too and she smiles bigger at him and then turns back to her friends. "You know, you haven't seen anyone since her, and it's been awhile, hasn't it?" Harry points out, in a tone that Zayn knows he uses when he's too afraid to say something and mean it seriously. Zayn shrugs.

"You remember what happened when we started going out," he reminds Harry, not particularly bothered by the observation. They'd gone out a few times when Zayn was sixteen, but it'd only lasted a short while before Perrie started getting hate, bullshit about converting and the like. She'd been strong enough to take it but Zayn hadn't been, insisting they'd be better off as friends. They'd parted amicably enough, and besides, she wasn't who he'd really wanted, even then.

"It'd be different now," Harry insists, boyish and stubborn.

"Sure Harry," Zayn indulges him. Harry glares at him and Zayn laughs, pulls him closer in consolation. Luckily, Harry's distracted by the sudden hush that falls upon the bleachers.

People have begun to stand so Zayn and Harry stand too, stomping their feet to the beat the drumline lays out. Harry giggles when Louis points to where he knows they're sitting with a drumstick, and then slips right back into the lick, expression smug. Liam's marching in front with the drum majors, looking sharp, grin easy. Zayn's teased him about it before, but he looks unfairly good in a black skin tight suit, fabric rippling whenever he moves, clinging to taut muscle. He takes a swig of courage.

They arrange themselves on the track, respectfully watching the away team's marching band play pre-show. They're a lot smaller and they get Harry wincing every time there's a pitch problem, but their guard is pretty good. They choose to perform simple choreography well, rather than attempt an overly-complicated routine, and Zayn can appreciate the wisdom behind that, so he claps indulgently, cheering after the guard captain's solo.

"You're in a good mood," Harry observes during the coin toss.

"You're here aren't you?" Zayn quips, waving at Niall when he turns from his seat on the bleachers below them. He can hear the way Harry rolls his eyes happily.

By half time they're down two touchdowns and the stands are rowdy and buzzed, high off a shared adrenaline and a few daring plays. They're on their feet for the marching band, a low roll of anticipation hushing them as two hundred players take to the field. Zayn fights his instinct to search for where he knows Liam'll be on the fifty, instead he scans the other guard members, watches the way they remain poised, eyes trained on the hands of the drum major. It's a latin groove this year, and it's beautifully executed, the color guard incorporating bright red and orange flags into an edgy salsa routine. And then, a mournful ballad, and Liam's solo, graceful and tragic and powerful. Zayn knows Liam worked for ages on this to get it just right, humming the melody under his breath for about a month while he worked it out. And it shows in the way Liam performs, leaving everything he's made of on the field, easily the best solo Zayn's seen in his four years here.

No, he's not biased.

Dani joins him a moment later in a series of lifts, and Zayn bites the inside of his cheek, wonders about the drag of deft fingers against rib grooves. Beside him, Harry puts two fingers to his lips and whistles, loud and shrill.

They're back to flags and Zayn's forced to wonder about strong hands wrapped tightly, moved quickly, has to close his eyes when he thinks that tonight those hands will wrap around his own slight wrists, pull their bodies flush together to an entirely different beat.

The crowd brims with appreciation and Zayn can only watch and wonder, breath held.

Then there's the drum break, a feature Niall, Louis and a young prodigy on snare, Greg, share. Harry watches proudly, clapping in all the right places, and Zayn slips a hand into the small of Harry’s back, and leans his head on Harry’s shoulder, content to share in just a small piece of what Harry and Louis have together.

They win. It comes as a surprise, their football team gets to celebrate only a handful of wins each season, and the crowd goes giddy with it. Harry and Zayn hear promises of an after party and a whole lot of fuzzy heads as they make their way against the flow of people, back towards the band room where their mates are taking off uniforms and putting away instruments.

"Out of my way, paki," shoves someone from Zayn's right. On his right side, Harry practically growls, squeezing Zayn's forearm painfully.

"Fuck off, Samuels," Harry bites out, standing his ground. Andy's expression shifts into something akin to confusion; Harry's well liked by nearly everyone in school, picking a fight with him wouldn't be a wise move.

"C'mon," mutters Zayn, tugging at Harry. Harry glares at Andy stubbornly for about a second longer, but Zayn's looking at the way a crowd's gathering around them, notices the way they've drawn attention to themselves by blocking traffic in the middle of the walkway. Andy's a lot less dangerous without the rest of his gang but still, Zayn's not willing to take chances. Not with Harry's pretty face. He tugs harder. "Haz." Finally Harry relents, allows himself to be lead away.

"Should have let me deal with him," Harry says angrily, ignoring Cher, a pretty girl on guard a year younger than them when she waves as they enter the band room. Zayn shoots her an apologetic look.

"No I shouldn't have."

"He was fucking alone for once, the bastard. Could've handled him," Harry mutters fiercely, fingers curling into fists.

"Leave it, Haz, m'fine. Promise," Zayn says firmly.

Zayn turns his attention determinedly away from Harry's observant gaze, to the chaos of the huge room, searching for the other lads, until someone comes bowling into him, knocking the air out of him and nearly choking him with sweaty hair. Liam's changed out of his uniform into worn sweats that smell clean and fresh and Zayn kind of wants to bury his cold nose in the dip of Liam's collar bone for a moment. He resists.

"You were brilliant," he says when he can take a breath without Liam's arms squeezing at his lungs.

"Yeah yeah," Liam waves away the compliment, circles a wrist, "C'mon, we've got to go."

"No victory drinks?" Niall pouts, coming up from behind Liam and wrapping his arms around Liam's waist.

"We can't," Liam twists to inform him importantly, before the illusion is ruined by a childlike giggle. "We've got to rehearse."

"Liam, it's still early, we could - " Zayn tries, but Liam rounds on him.

"C'mon Zayn, please? I'm itching for it - "

"Are you," Louis drawls, managing to infuse enough smirk into his voice even as he presses an open mouthed kiss to Harry's cheek. Harry opens his mouth, a frown etched in the curve of his eyebrows, but Zayn shakes his head, shoots him a pleading look, and Harry snaps his mouth shut, kisses the top of Louis' forehead gently. He's still frowning but when Louis looks at him with soft blue eyes, the creases in Harry's forehead smooth out and Zayn knows he's in the clear.

"Shove it," Liam is saying happily, continuing to tug on Zayn. "No time to waste Zayn, let's go." Zayn laughs in spite himself, feels Liam's enthusiasm like a hook in his belly.

"Yeah alright," he shrugs helplessly at his three other mates, each with their own version of a fond smile, and allows himself to be dragged away.

The lights are on in the studio when they get there, and Zayn just shrugs at Liam and pushes through the door and - stops short.

Sailaja's there. Being pressed against a mirrored wall by -

"Nidhi?" The two girls jump apart, mouths separating with an obscene noise. "What are you - "

"You're not supposed to be here," Sailaja stammers out, pulling her dress back in place, and blowing her hair off her face. "It's not eight yet - "

"Didn't know anyone else had studio time," Zayn says distractedly, "What is going on here?" he demands. He watches as Nidhi wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and then reaches for Sailaja, interlaces their fingers. Zayn's known they've been close, knows they can read each other's minds, watches them wrap around each other to keep the warmth in, sees the way they perform on stage together but -

"We know, Zayn," Nidhi says quiety, "We know about her parents and tradition and culture," she spits out the word, "I know she'll be promised to someone else, no matter what I have to say about it," and her voice is quiet and resigned, like the words are stale on her tongue, "We're just trying to enjoy what time we have, ok?"

Zayn forces a nod, every muscle stiff. She eyes him dangerously for a moment, catlike and deadly, and Zayn remembers how hard she fought to be here, how much she battled to prove to her parents that classes here were worth the drive and the money, that dancing was worth the commitment. Remembers the way the two girls had fought at first, often coming head to head against each other for the same roles, creating an ugly competition that broke suddenly into a fierce, protective love. He feels his muscles relax further. "C'mon," she says finally, when she can see the way the lines in Zayn's body have unfurled. She nods at Liam, "Let's give them a moment."

She takes Liam's hand and leads him out of the studio, and Zayn watches Sailaja, waits until the door clicks shut. Then he's moving to her, hugging her tightly.

"Oh Sailu," he murmurs. He feels the sigh of relief she presses to his chest and suddenly he's desperate to keep the pain out of their embrace. "What are you going to do?" She shakes her head against his chest.

"Never meant for you to find out this way," she shudders out, "We were rehearsing and things got. We got carried away." She bites her lip, pulls away to look at him. "Are you mad? You can be mad. I should have told you. Only it's so new and I -"

"I'm not mad," he says as gently as he can, cupping her chin. "I just. I don't understand -" She shrugs helplessly, looking small.

"I don't either," she confesses. Zayn closes his eyes for a moment. Sailaja's parents are a rarity nowadays. Most who immigrate here come with a resignation to the idea that their kids will grow up infused with different values, a different influence. Zayn hardly knows anyone who'll be expected to have an arranged marriage, with matching horoscopes and a soothsayer involved. But he's always known about Sailaja. Known that one day her marriage proposal would be drawn from a set of suitors her parents have picked out, who are of the same caste, who speak the same language, who practice the same religion. Who are most certainly not the same gender. He sighs heavily. He'd thought that's what she wanted.

Instead of asking her again what she's going to do, he pulls her firmly against him again, kisses her forehead.

"It's going to be alright," he says, and his words are meaningless, trite, but he knows she'll understand how much he wants them to be true. Thinks it'll have to be enough for now.

They come out a few minutes later to find Nidhi and Liam chatting aimlessly. Liam stops abruptly, arms halfway through a gesture when he spots them, gives Zayn a questioning smile.

"I need a cigarette," is Zayn's only suitable response. They wait for the girls to pull their shoes on and step outside. "What are you doing here anyway, Nidhs?" he asks after the first inhale. His tone is light and affectionate and he sees Nidhi visibly relax, curl further into Sailaja. The question's a valid one. She normally doesn't come on weekdays, can't because of how faraway she lives.

"We're performing on Sunday too," she says, "Dola Re," she answers his arched eyebrow.

"You're gonna drive back now?" Liam asks incredulously.

"No." And Zayn chuckles at the way she refuses to be embarrassed. "m'gonna stay at Sailu's."

"Oh," is all Liam says, dazed. Sailaja's laughing, wrapping her arm around Nidhi, and pressing a kiss to her neck, and Zayn can't even protest because this is all so normal for them, even before.

"C'mon," she tugs at Nidhi's hand, "Let's let these two get to it. They're gonna have to work hard if they want to perform after us." She waggles her eyebrows and Zayn throws her the two fingered salute but doesn't bother to mask his fondness.

"You ok?" Liam asks softly, when the girls have left and Liam and Zayn are getting their kits on. Zayn shrugs, tries to figure out how to explain it to Liam.

As usual, Liam is one step ahead of him.

"Sailaja told me about her family," he tries.

"Yeah?" Zayn asks, "What else did she tell you?" and he means it as a joke, but Liam tilts his head, considers the question.

"She told me that even you don't really understand it. That even though you use dance as an escape from all the shit at school, you sometimes feel like an outsider here too, because you're different than they are, raised different. She told me that sometimes you get shit about it here too. That some parents don't want their daughters dancing with a Muslim boy -" he trails off as Zayn shudders, takes a step closer, "She told me that even so, you've always fought to do right by her, you've done your best to learn about a culture that's not yours." Zayn's mouth is dry but he fights for words anyway.

"Fancy yourself an expert then?" he chokes out, trying to stay teasing. Liam doesn't bite.

"M'just scratching the surface," he says seriously, staring hard at Zayn. Zayn struggles for breath until Liam clears his throat and looks away and Zayn can be a normal person again. "Should we start?"

"Yeah uh," Zayn coughs. "Let's. Here." He puts the CD in, motions for Liam to take his place. "Let's just run it, yeah?"

It's a clumsy first run even though it's obvious that Liam's practiced in the short while they've had since yesterday. Zayn breaks it down, slowly running through each movement beside Liam so they can figure out how their bodies should slot together, arms overlapping, hips almost touching. Zayn's used to being the man, used to directing the formation, and he finds it hard to let go, relax into Liam's lead and Liam tries to laugh away the tension between them but the deeper they get into the choreography, the more intimate they get, and the more strained his laughter gets, the more flushed Zayn becomes.

"Here um," and by this time Zayn's scarlet, "You be me for a second yeah?" he refuses to look Liam in the eye as he takes position, then runs his hand down Liam's bare arm, until his fingers snag at his wrist. "I'm gonna put up a struggle," he murmurs to Liam, "I'm mad at you here. You're flirting with all these other girls and I'm jealous and I don't want to listen to your sweet talk but you. You don't let me go yeah. You can apply pressure, don't afraid to be rough," he tightens his grip to accentuate the point and then lets go, reverses their positions so Liam can try.

His heartbeat quickens when Liam trails fingers purposefully down his right arm and he wants to sink into the touch but he moves away, even as Liam wraps his hand around Zayn's wrist, stopping him. Liam tugs harder, pulls Zayn flush against him to palm his chin, and then he's twirling him out, arms strong enough that Zayn doesn't second guess him, just moves with him, until he can yank his hand away.

"Good," he says, breathless, pulse racing, "Really good um. So it's my verse now," he moves forward, away from Liam, "I tell you that Krishna's constantly with another girl, ask how Radha can not be jealous." And if his mind jumps fleetingly to Danielle, well, he’d never admit it.

"And I tell you," Liam continues softly, catching up with Zayn to circle around him, brushing up against him at every turn, "that Radha is the Queen of Krishna's heart, that no matter what it looks like, it'll only be you." He halts, lets their bodies overlap, and Zayn glances up into the mirror before he can help himself, breathes in sharply at what he sees. Liam's eyes meet his in their reflection and he offers a shaky smile at the beautiful picture they make, contrasting skin tones melting into each other. "Yeah?" Liam chokes out, and something in his voice has Zayn's stomach in knots.

"Yeah," he agrees hoarsely, when he's almost sure his voice won't shake. And he's normally not one to acknowledge how good he looks, but right now, he feels fucking beautiful, lined up next to Liam. "Yes, yeah."

"Alright then," Liam smiles, satisfied, moving away from Zayn. "So next we have -"

They mold and shape and tweak and improve until Zayn's so exhausted he can't even be turned on anymore.

"You're trying to kill me," he whines when the sticky wooden floor he's laying on offers him no respite. Liam only spares him an absentminded nod, focused more on the movement he's practicing the mirror. "How is it possible to have the amount of energy you do?"

"I'm the Batman," Liam offers, not even glancing away from the glass. Zayn snorts.

"Lee-yum. C'mon. One five minute break. Please?" Liam sighs, finishes off the step before settling cross-legged on the floor by Zayn's head. Zayn closes his eyes happily, choosing to carefully ignore the way his body automatically angles itself towards the other boy.

"I want it to be good," Liam whispers after a moment, and in the stillness of the studio, his words seem to echo anyway. "You heard Master Garu, it's an important performance. And I, unlike you, still have something to prove." Zayn sits up, mirrors the way Liam's positioned so he can look right into his eyes, try to discern how heavy those words were meant to be.

"I'm pretty sure this exercise was meant for me," Zayn says slowly, "So that I let you in more, or whatever." Liam shrugs awkwardly, ducking his head and mumbling something Zayn can't catch. "Liam," he coaxes, pressing a hand to his knee. Liam clears his throat, carefully avoids eye contact.

"Maybe," he says, a little louder, "She needs me to prove to you that I'm worth letting in." And that is probably the most ridiculous thing Zayn has ever heard and he counts Louis as one of his best friends so -

"Christ, Li, that's. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," and Zayn is really bad with words, especially in front of Liam, but he has to do better, because Liam's sort of nodding at him like he doesn't look all that convinced and he really needs to fix this. "It's not you," wincing almost instantly, because Liam deserves better than a cliche.

He tries another approach, "Even Haz gets mad at me for this and he's, well. He's known me ages. And. I'm just bad at it, Liam, it has nothing to do with you," but it does because really i'm so fucking gone for you i can't dance with you for five minutes without getting a semi. Christ.

He gets up and then pulls Liam up too, "C'mon. Let's practice until our muscles bleed into our bones and then Master Garu will know you and I make a brilliant pair, because we do, I know we do." Hah. So Liam doesn't turn all his brains into mush.

Liam considers him thoughtfully and Zayn takes a moment to appreciate the swelling in Liam's lip where he worries it. When his eyes dart back up to Liam's they're amused and young.

"Will you be borrowing one of Sailaja's dresses then?" he asks. Zayn hits him.

"Tosser. I take everything back." Liam pouts.

"But you're the Queen of my heart," he protests, yelping when Zayn pinches the skin above his hipbone.

"And you're the bullet in mine," Zayn shoves back, "C'mon, back to the dance."

Their last run through, when they finally get to it, terrifies Zayn. Liam collapses to the floor when the CD spins to a halt, but Zayn paces, tries to persuade the blood that's rushed to his dick back to his lungs. He's never felt this way about a performance before, at least, not in a rehearsal, and even still. It's like in every slide of skin Zayn could feel the pulse of Liam's heart, patterned in between inhales and exhales, could feel the music in the way his bones shifted to every step.

Liam interrupts his thoughts with arms thrown around his neck and a nose in his ear and Zayn doesn't think his legs can hold up the extra weight but he accepts the hug, carefully slotting his hips away so Liam can't feel the way he's achingly hard.

"Thank you," Liam mumbles into Zayn's sweaty hair. Zayn pulls away almost regretfully.

"For what?"

"For letting me in? For, I don't even know Zayn, that last run was. I've never had that with anyone before," and his voice is hushed and awestruck and Zayn swallows hard because Liam felt it too. He doesn't trust himself to speak so he pulls Liam back in, hands fisting in his shirt fiercely.

"Thank you," he says back. He can feel Liam's smile impressed in the crook of his bare shoulder.

He finds himself in Sailaja's driveway on the opposite side of town, and it really doesn't surprise him all that much, or it shouldn't anymore. He sighs, puts the car in park and just sits for a moment. Inhale, exhale.

He's greeted by her mother, when he finally knocks. She offers him a warm smile.

"Hello," she says simply, "Sailu upstairs." Zayn offers her a grateful smile, laughing slightly when she pulls him into a hug. "Long time." she says cheekily, pulling away. Zayn rolls his eyes affectionately at her. It has been, at most, maybe two weeks since she's seen him last. They have a language barrier, Zayn and her. She speaks not a word of English, and Zayn doesn't know Sailaja's native tongue so it puts them at a loss. But they make up for it most of the time, Sailaja taking the time to translate or just communicating via simple facial expressions and hand gestures. And she feeds him a lot. A lot. Like right now, she's hollering for Sailaja, and tugging him into the kitchen.

It's late, like, 1:30 am, and downstairs it's quiet but Zayn knows the entire family's still up, and the kitchen light is still on and Zayn doesn't protest, knows it won't do him any good, when she piles a heap of rice, vegetable and spicy mango pickle onto his plate.

Sailaja comes down, alone, taking the stairs by two.

"Where's Nidhi?" Zayn asks.

"Asleep," Sailaja says with a wave of her hand, "Standing up to you takes more out of her than she can admit," she teases. Zayn flushes.

"She's know I'm sorry right?"

"Yeah yeah," Sailaja says unworriedly, "Anyway, I thought I'd be seeing you tonight. Made mum make a bit of extra rice for you just in case," she settles down by his feet on the floor, looking up at him as he eats, "How was it then?"

Zayn focuses on mixing his food carefully with his fingers and Sailaja jabs at him exasperatedly before finally giving up and opening her mouth. Zayn obliges her, rolling up a small amount of rice between his fingers and plopping it into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, quiet for only as long as it takes her to swallow.

"What's she making you do?" Zayn sighs. She's going to find out eventually, anyway.

"Radha kaise na jale," he says, watching her eyes widen. "I'm to dance your part."

"Oh fudge. And how does Liam feel about it?"

"Liam? What about me?" Zayn asks, irrationally irritated. Sailaja gets up off the floor to settles next to him on the couch and tuck her feet underneath him.

"How do you feel about it?" she asks him kindly, and he sighs, vexation vanishing as quickly as it came on.

"Dunno," he says slowly. "I thought he'd be weirded out by the whole thing but he's not, he's. I don't know. He's enthusiastic, and focused and he works hard to remember everything and he asks why a lot like he understands how much we put into the choreo, and I'm. I mean, it's amazing, Sailu, to teach someone like him. He's wonderful."

Sailaja's just smiling warmly at him when he finishes and he blushes at her sincerity, looks down at his plate.

"C'mon," she says, tugging at his crooked elbow. "Let's go upstairs."

He obediently puts his plate in the sink and washes his hands and then lets Sailaja lead their way upstairs. Suddenly she's chuckling quietly and he raises an amused eyebrow at her.

"Sorry, just had a flashback to the first time you tried to come up to my room," she teases. Zayn grimaces.

"Nothing about that was funny," he mutters. Her dad had shouted at him, asked him what he thought he was doing following his youngest daughter up to her room. Zayn had blushed scarlet, fumbling about for a explanation against his flashing eyes and low dangerous tone of voice. In the end, Sailaja had had to beg him to understand their partnership, how they were brothers on the stage and how he could trust Zayn, how she trusted him with everything.

"Yeah yeah," she grins, "You're lucky mum's so fond of you." Her mum had helped his case a great deal, spoken softly to her father, coaxing him away from anger and into reason.

In her room, the lights are dim and Nidhi is asleep, wrapped tightly in Sailaja's warm blankets. She stirs when they enter, reaching out for Zayn who moves to her, replacing her pillow with the length of his torso and allowing her to relax against him. He looks up to see Sailaja smiling fondly at the two of them.

"My two favorite people," she smiles, sleepy content. Nidhi hums and Zayn grins and reaches over to settle his hand on her ankle. "You gonna stay the night?" He's practically got his own bed in this house. Well, truth be told it's a thin mattress pad with a set of blankets and a pillow kept underneath Sailaja's bed for nights like this, when they retreat, quiet and achy, into the solace of her room to whine about the strenuousness of rehearsal or the rigidness of Master Garu. Tonight though, Zayn shakes his head.

"I should head home, let you two get some sleep." Nidhi tightens her hold on him stubbornly.

"Stay," she mumbles, "We never get to have sleepovers, c'mon." Zayn has to laugh - and give her her way. No one should have as many sisters as he does, he realizes forlornly.

"Yeah alright," he moves to untangle his limbs but Sailaja shakes her head.

"Nah, c'mon, dad didn't see you come up and mum will think you've left. And we'll sneak you out tomorrow morning before we go to temple. Just sleep on the bed. I want cuddles." Behind her childish demand Zayn sees a spark of genuine need in her eyes so he doesn't protest, just toes off his socks and slides underneath the blankets, allowing Sailaja and Nidhi to settle in against his sides.

"Do you want - " But they both shake their heads against his chest, interlacing their fingers on the flat lines of his stomach. "Well this is something I hadn't considered before," injecting an innuendo into his words. Sailaja snorts a laugh.

"Only in your most satisfying of dreams, Zayn," she deadpans, snuggling closer. "Love you," she mumbles.

"Yeah yeah," he turns his smile into her hair and closes his eyes to exhaustion.

part 3
1dashavataram is the name of dance that depicts the ten lives of Lord Vishnu. it usually involves complicated choreography, because Vishnu's lives include a snake, a tortoise, and more
2gorra is a slang word for non-desi, or non-southeast asian. it can be used in a derogatory sense, but not here.