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Zayn gets the email from his old flatmate the day before his train back to London. It's not Brett - he doesn't know why he'd expected it to be from Brett - but Danny who tells him the two of them found another place to stay and that he doesn't know if the apartment's still on the market.
That's that.
Zayn takes the train anyway - he can't afford the cancellation, nor his parents' worry - and goes to the first cheap listing he finds on the student database.
The house is a fucking wreck; there's central heating and the kitchen doesn't smell, and that's about it as far as good things go. It's forty minutes out from the campus, though there's a direct bus that runs three times an hour. The walls are peeling. The pipes are loud, especially in the corridor on the second floor. Neither of the bathrooms' doors close, so one of them has a thick shower curtain stapled to the top of the entrance, and the other has a piece of paper taped to the door reminding people to yell before entering.
The landlord Paul is decent, a little apologetic, but he makes sure Zayn knows that this is what he gets for something at that low a price. The one rule he has, the one he says he's going to be the most strict about, is no parties. He says this watching Zayn carefully, like he thinks that Zayn is the kind of person who throws parties. Zayn just nods.
Only one of his new housemates has already moved in. Harry looks...frankly ridiculous, his hair in a headband in the weirdest print. He's tall and cool, polite enough; maybe naturally distant, or maybe getting that Zayn isn't in the mood to talk. He shows Zayn the main rooms, tells him he's already lived here for a year, but it's easy to get used to. Their three other housemates will be new, too.
The house is a fucking wreck. His new room will be tiny.
There's something else about it, though - about this house, about this room. There's an energy to it, a quiet thrum that settles in him the minute he enters his room. It's the lightest he's felt in weeks, since his last night in London before heading home for summer. It's the readiest he's felt for the year to come.
Zayn signs the tenant agreement that morning, and he's unpacked his things by nightfall.
He doesn't really get to know his housemates. He barely sees them. He only even knows their names because of the whiteboards they've all got on their room doors. Harry's never really home in the evenings, and when he is, they're never both in the same room. Louis arrives in the middle of the week, leaves a labelled plastic container of homemade brownies on the kitchen counter like it's all the introduction he needs to give, and takes one of the bigger rooms. Niall arrives in a flurry of noise, his friends helping him unpack and put his things away, and then he leaves again with them for the night.
They seem all right. Zayn only hopes that they stay out of his hair.
Zayn runs into the last of them late one night, and it's the first time he regrets taking the first place he found. At least the other guy looks embarrassed, too.
"Hi," they say at the same time, staying at opposite corners of the kitchen.
They stare at each other, neither of them saying anything else, before Zayn starts to turn around.
"Um, I have to - "
"I am so sorry," the guy says. "I was really drunk. Can we forget it happened?"
They're always drunk, Zayn thinks with a sigh, turning back around. "I'm Zayn," he says instead. "The name you didn't get off me the last time."
"Liam," Liam says, looking relieved. He gives Zayn a small smile, something wholly different from his more leering expressions that night. It looks - sweet. Nice. "Really sorry. I promise, no alcohol in this household, yeah?"
"All right, I get it," Zayn says, surprised that he's unable to hold back a smile in return. "Look, I have...my first class is tomorrow. See you around?"
"Yeah!" Liam says. "I mean, yes. See you, Zayn."
Zayn slips out before Liam realises it's only Saturday, and resolves to stay out of his way as much as possible.
Going back to Bradford every summer always feels like a way to make his world shrink. It's a removal of pressure points. It's so nice to be able to return to his points of reference: his family, his house, his old room. It's comforting.
This time, this semester, without the friends he used to have to drag him back out again, his world stays shrunk. It becomes coursework, work-work, and sleep; campus, the restaurant he works at, and his room. He forgets about his housemates, the way he forgets about most things.
Coursework, work, sleep, and a little bit of self-pity. Here's the thing: joining uni, he'd hoped he would've figured this out by now, this whole life thing. It'd already taken him two years to figure out he'd wanted to teach, not just create art or study it - and that'd only been because his advisor had sat him down and talked to him about it. He definitely feels more certain about himself, about what he's doing, than he had three years ago - but he's also a little lonelier. He feels a little bit lacking.
It feels like he's starting the rest of it all over again, while everyone's already moved past him.
His world stays shrunk - maybe he stays shrunk. But it's all right. Another year and he can go back home.
A month after he moves in, he gets a call.
"Zee?"
"Hi - Riaz?" Zayn asks, confused, pushing away the readings on his desk.
"Yeah. Can you, um. Can you come?"
"Are you at home? Are you all right?" he says, picking up on the way the boy's voice is shaking. It's mid-afternoon, he thinks, judging off how bright it is outside - he'd check the time on his phone, but he doesn't want to pull it away from his ear.
"Okay," Riaz says, voice small. "Need help."
"Okay," Zayn says back. He grabs his wallet, jogging out of the room. "Do you need me to stay on the phone?"
"No."
Zayn almost laughs. He's even more allergic to the phone than Zayn is. Zayn loves him a lot.
"I'll be right there," he says instead. "Love you, kid. Just hold on, okay?"
Zayn could take the bus, but it'd have to be two buses, and that'd take too long. He knocks on the door at the kitchen, putting his phone away. Niall and Louis are the only ones in, and they look up at him as soon as he appears at the door.
"I kind of need a lift," he says, trying not to step back at their inquiring looks. "Can anybody - do you have the time?"
Zayn still doesn't know them well enough, still doesn't know their last names, but they must be able to read something in him: both of them straighten, moving away from the groceries on the counter.
"I can drive you," Louis offers, slipping past him to get to the keys they keep up by the front door.
Niall follows, too, slowing down as he nears Zayn. "Is everything okay?"
"I don't know," Zayn says, starting to walk beside him. There's a little step between the kitchen and the living room that he's been tripping over every day for the last month, but Niall puts a guiding hand at his back just as they get to it, like he knows. Zayn has to think a little to keep talking. "This kid near my old place. Something's wrong, I don't know why he called me."
"How did he sound?" Niall prompts lightly.
"I - " Zayn pauses, finally giving himself time to properly think it over. "He sounded nervous?"
"Not scared?" Niall says. "Safe?"
"Not scared, no," Zayn concedes, the worry fading a little. "Probably not in danger." He throws him a small, grateful smile as they reach the car. Niall shrugs - and then he gets in in the back, instead of leaving like Zayn'd expected him to.
"How old is he?" Louis asks as Zayn slips into the passenger seat.
"Almost five," Zayn says. "We used to live in the same building, I babysat for his parents all through uni."
"Must've been disappointed you moved," Niall says conversationally.
Didn't get a choice, did I, Zayn thinks with venom, a fiercer emotion than he's felt in months. "Yeah," he says, knowing it's not the way to continue the conversation.
They leave it at that.
Riaz isn't alone in the apartment. There's a woman in a bright sundress and blazer sitting next to him by the dinner table. Zayn barely pays her any attention as Riaz rushes up to him.
Riaz is tall for his age, but a skinny thing - Zayn's always empathised with him, he's always been a little weedy himself. His eyes are a little red, and his black hair messy on one side, which his mum would've combed smooth as soon as she saw him. Zayn takes care as he kneels to hug him, instinctively brushing Riaz's hair back.
"Hi, Riz," he says. Riaz hugs back tightly, holding on a little longer than he usually would have. "Where are your parents?"
"About that," the woman says. "They're fine, but - Riaz here says you're his uncle, is that right?"
Zayn blanks. "Uh."
"Once removed, wasn't it, Zayn?" Niall recovers for him smoothly. "His dad is Zayn's cousin."
"Right," Zayn agrees blandly.
"Hm," the woman says, adjusting her glasses.
"Zee," Riaz says. "What's wrong?"
"We don't know yet, kid," Zayn says, pressing a kiss against his forehead. He waits for Riaz's automatic cheek-kiss in return before he stands up again. "You may have to come home with me, is that okay?"
Riaz is a smart kid; his eyes are sharp, he looks like he wants to know more. "Pizza," he says instead.
"Anything you want," Zayn says, poking at Riaz's cheek, which always makes him smile. "We'll get you one with pineapple."
"He coming home with us tonight?" Louis asks, stepping into the apartment. "I had to park further out, so if we need to get his things - "
"He doesn't have anywhere else," Zayn starts to say, suddenly realising he has four people whose opinions he needs to get on this.
Louis only nods and squats down next to Riaz. "What do you say? What's your name?"
"Riaz," Riaz says, frowning a little as he looks Louis over.
"Riahz," Louis says back carefully, making sure to put the emphasis on the right syllable, the way Zayn'd taught them in the car. Zayn nods at him when he looks up to check, and when Louis looks back at Riaz the side of his mouth is curled in a smile. It looks nice on him, that softness. "Can I help you pack some of your things?"
The woman in the dress, who's been watching them the whole time, waves them off. Zayn hangs back.
"Where were you born?" the woman says.
Every time he's asked this question - "Right here in the UK, mate," Zayn says, a little sharper than he'd meant.
"Your cousin's been here for years without a valid visa, mate," the woman snaps, and softens when Zayn blinks at her in confusion. "Do you have your birth cert? The name of the hospital you were born in?"
"Yeah, I, my parents," he says, head getting a little clouded. "Is that what the problem is?"
"Riaz was born here, but his parents are illegal, looks like," she says simply. "That's all I can tell you for now."
"What's going to happen to him?"
Zayn'd forgotten Niall was here, too. He steps up to Zayn's side now, not touching him at all, but just close enough to feel a line of heat against his arm. It's the second time that day he's met conscious, purposeful contact - the second time in weeks. He leans into it just a little, bridges the tiny gap.
"I can't tell you anything else," the woman is saying, looking apologetic. She looks from Niall back to Zayn. "Zain, right? That's how Riaz said your name."
"That's right," Zayn says, startled as he takes the clipboard she hands over.
"It's the last name that everyone gets wrong, for me," she says with a smile. "Give me your contact details, I'll call you by tomorrow."
"If it's a repatriation issue," Niall starts to say as Zayn fills out the form quickly. "What happens to Riaz's parents?"
"Can't tell you anything else," she says again, shaking her head. "Tomorrow."
When Zayn glances up at him, Niall shoots him a look of annoyance, which makes Zayn bite back a smile.
"Where's Brett and Danny?" Riaz asks, kicking the counter from where he's sitting on top of it.
"We don't live together anymore," Zayn says. He's been trying his hand at sounding like his change of address is nothing, not something he's managed to avoid talking about for a month. He thinks he's pulling it off.
"No Brett, no noodles," Riaz says.
"Excuse me, Riz," Zayn says, pushing his laptop aside and grabbing at him. "I can make you noodles."
Riaz giggles and hunches away from him. "It's no good," he wheezes, and then imperiously adds, "Zee, pizza."
"I know, I know," Zayn says, pulling Riaz back in so he can look at the screen too. He locks him in with arms on either side of him as he reaches for the keyboard. "Pineapples."
"Pineapples," Riaz agrees firmly. He puts his hands on Zayn's arms like they're the arms of a chair, and Zayn laughs. It's been months since he's talked to Riaz, but it's taken till now to realise how much he's missed him. He presses a kiss against his temple.
Liam enters the kitchen just as Zayn adds the pizza order to the online delivery list.
"Pizza?" Liam asks, glancing at the screen as he heads past them to the refrigerator. "Could you get me one with chicken? I'll pay you back when it gets here?"
"Sure," Zayn says, flashing a quick smile at him.
Liam has the look of the freshly scrubbed-clean, like he's barely a minute out of the shower and ready to wind down for the night, even though it's only six in the evening. He rounds the counter to come back to them, holding his water bottle in his hand.
"Is this Riaz?" Liam holds out his hand.
"Our special guest," Zayn says, poking Riaz on the side of his stomach. "Riz, this is Liam."
Riaz looks him up and down, the way he's taken to doing to people he's meeting for the first time. "Hello," he says, and turns back to the laptop, repeating "chicken" to himself as he confidently scrolls through the page on-screen.
Zayn shrugs at Liam, both amused and a little embarrassed.
Liam only laughs, nodding up at Riaz like he understands, and he lets his hand drop. "Niall filled me in," he says. "Tell me if you need anything."
"Thank you," Zayn says, meaning it. It's more than he expected from one roommate, let alone all of them. "He'll probably only be here a while."
"Still." Liam smiles at him, that same small smile of his.
It reaches his eyes. Zayn fights the urge to duck his head into Riaz's hair.
"Thank you," Zayn says again, and straightens as he hits 'order' on the pizza delivery site.
He pretends the page takes longer to load than it really does so he can keep from looking up. He can't help but keep waiting for Liam to leave; keep waiting for Liam to want to leave. He doesn't have things to say when he's talking to people he barely knows.
Liam doesn't leave. He leans on the counter near the sink, his easy movement undercut by the way he watches Zayn carefully - but not like he's expecting something from him.
Zayn feels himself start to relax.
"Niall said you're his uncle?"
"We're not even related," Zayn says with a laugh, relaxing a little more. "I have so many uncles back home? But my parents were both, like, single children."
"Abba calls you bhai," Riaz reminds softly, tilting his head back to look at Zayn. Riaz tends to get quiet in a way Zayn recognises, and Zayn usually leaves him alone with that for a little while, because he knows the value of space - but any quieter tonight and he may start thinking about his parents too long.
Zayn makes a face at him as he tugs on Riaz's nose, and Riaz starts to giggle.
"Bhai is brother," Zayn tells Liam, pinching Riaz's cheek. He shifts his hand down to cup his chin, pressing Riaz's mouth down into an 'o' shape and shaking his head left and right. Riaz keeps giggling, breaking into laughter when Zayn pokes at his side again.
Liam is watching them in interest when Zayn looks back up. Zayn winks at him and Liam grins back, bright and wide.
"Where will he be sleeping?" Liam says, just as Riaz starts to yell.
"With me," Zayn says. He raises his voice, hauling Riaz closer to him. "I just hope I don't roll over and crush him?"
Liam shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh even as something lights in his eyes. "Don't know if a boy can survive that," he says gamely.
"Zee," Riaz yells. "No, no."
When Zayn lets him go, though, it's Liam that Riaz levels a suspecting glare at.
"No," Riaz says again, shifting closer to Zayn.
"Did you order garlic bread?" Liam says, pushing himself off the counter.
"Oh," Zayn says, wincing. "I should - "
"No," Liam says. "I just - I bought a loaf yesterday, we can try making it at home if you want."
Zayn glances at Riaz, who looks like he's weighing garlic bread against his strange distrust of Liam. Zayn makes the decision for him.
"Let me find a recipe," he says.
"No need." Liam grins - and that grin Zayn remembers. "I was in cooking club for two months, this is basic sh - stuff," he corrects, shooting a nervous look at Riaz.
"Shtuff," Zayn says, nodding seriously.
Liam cracks up. Riaz looks up at Zayn, his face just this side of a scowl.
Liam is nothing like the silly athlete-type Zayn'd thought he was that night Liam hit on him.
His garlic bread gets a little charred, but watching him make it is an experience - he's careful, endearingly conscientious. He brings down his laptop so they can watch Aladdin on the living room couch. He lets Riaz trade a piece of their pizza for his, though Zayn notices him picking out some of the pineapple pieces and leaving it by the side of his plate. He talks about his sound engineering major, his classes, his job, and he asks questions right back - specific ones, like he's been paying proper attention to everything Zayn says.
There are other things, less visible things, that Zayn collects over the course of the evening - the way Liam's hand feels on his back when he's stretching past it to grab something behind him, and how he tugs Zayn to the side when he gets in the way, his hands on Zayn's waist. There's a gentleness to him that feels innate, not just put on because he's interacting with a bit of an introvert and a child.
It's still a little exhausting, though. When Liam offers to clean up, Zayn takes advantage. He scoops up Riaz, who's been yawning steadily for the last half-hour, and squeezes Liam's arm as he brushes past him to head to the stairs.
From his periphery, it looks like Liam freezes. Zayn lets it go.
Zayn knows Riaz's bedtime routine almost as well as his own, with Riaz's parents coming home late often when they were in the middle of a major work project. Pyjamas, teeth, face-washing - both of them go through the motions methodically, without second thought.
Riaz only breaks out of it after Zayn tucks him into bed, hoping to finish the last of the readings he left behind in the afternoon.
"Zain," Riaz says. "Are Abba and Ammi okay?"
Zayn sits down on the bed. "They're probably okay," he says carefully.
"Miss them," Riaz says. "Is that okay?"
"I miss my baba and mum all the time, Riz," Zayn says truthfully. "You miss everyone you love."
"Miss them," Riaz repeats, a little more certain. "Want them back."
"Hey, it's okay to miss them," Zayn says, leaning in close. He wants to tell him it's okay to cry, if he wants to, because everyone cries - but it's okay, too, if he doesn't want to cry, because not everyone wants to cry. Whatever Riaz wants, Zayn can be that for him. He summarises it instead, not wanting to overwhelm him. "I'm here, though."
Riaz looks at him, his face beseeching. "Sleep with me?"
The readings can wait. "Give me company while I'm brushing my teeth?" Zayn says, knowing Riaz doesn't want to be alone.
Riaz nods empathically.
They brush past Harry on their way back from the bathroom, but Zayn's too tired to give him more than a small smile. Riaz presses in close to him once they're in bed, and Zayn falls asleep to the rhythm of his breathing.
"Zain, need clothes," Riaz says, running out of the bathroom with his shirt off.
Zayn stops him with a hand on his head and turns him around. "Right here, Riz," he says, throwing him the clean clothes from the suitcase they'd packed the day before. Niall and he had to pull out a couple of things from the laundry basket, digging past Nadira's long-sleeve T-shirts and salwaar kameezes, but it was worth the extra wash last night to be able to give Riaz his lucky t-shirt now.
"Oh," Riaz says. He looks the pile over and nods, walking into the room again.
"You're welcome," Zayn says, with a laugh that reaches near hysteria. He rests against the wall and slides to the floor, already tired. It's nine, and he'd had to skip his morning class - but it's still too early to deal with Riaz's energy. He'd somehow forgotten it.
"Hey," Harry says, shuffling into the corridor from his room right next door. "Did I miss him?"
"His Highness just went to take a bath," Zayn says, nodding at the bathroom curtain. "Good morning."
"Morning," Harry says with a yawn. "Wanted to say - I have bath bombs, if you want."
"Bombs?" Riaz says loudly, running back out. Only his pants are on.
Zayn moves to get up and Harry shakes his head. "I've got it," he says, walking into the bathroom. "Come on, Rizzo. Can I call you Rizzo?"
Zayn's seconds from dozing when Harry pushes the curtain back again, the distinctive smell of cocoa coming from the bathroom.
"Thanks," Zayn says, smiling up at him.
"Nah," Harry says, scratching at his stomach. He drops inelegantly on the floor next to Zayn, leaving a couple of inches between them. "Class?"
"Riz," Zayn explains. "The social services officer is coming by later in the afternoon."
Harry nods. "School?"
"Called the nursery school, said he'd be back next week," Zayn says.
Harry nods again, eyelids drooping. "Love kids," he says slowly. "Tell me if you - "
" - need anything?" Zayn finishes, feeling warm. He shifts a little closer to Harry so he can nudge him. "I will. Thank you."
Harry leans heavily into Zayn's side, like he'd only needed permission before throwing himself at him. It's nice. Zayn wishes he'd known that sooner.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Riaz's off-tune humming filtering through the thick curtain.
"D'you know, I think we had art history together," Harry says. "Last year."
"Did we," Zayn says, trying to think. "Wasn't it a morning class?"
"Yeah," Harry says with a sigh.
"Yeah," Zayn repeats, sighing back. "Don't remember mornings, sorry."
Harry lets out an amused snort. "Thought you were pretending not to know me when we met in September."
"Sorry, Harry," Zayn says, genuinely feeling a little bad. Harry just gave a probably expensive bath bomb to a kid he doesn't even know - he must've been cooler to him for a reason, that first day. This reason. "I don't remember a fucking thing from that class except the impressionist paintings."
"You can make it up to me," Harry promises easily. "We've got a year."
The child services officer comes to their house in just as bright a dress, but her smile is much warmer than it'd been the day before.
"I'm Gloria," she introduces, shaking Zayn's hand, and then turning to shake Riaz's with just as much solemnity. "Gloria Villanueva, but don't bother. Gloria."
"Hi, Gloria," Zayn says. "Can I get you - "
"Just show me to the kitchen, I just want a glass of water," Gloria says, already stepping past them both to put her tote bag on the dining table.
Zayn barely has the chance to point before Gloria speeds past. He looks up at Harry, who's standing at the base of the staircase, and they exchange a bewildered look, lifting their hands in confused unison.
Harry laughs first, pointing at him. "Your face, Zayn."
"Very funny," Riaz agrees. It sounds so unintentionally dry Zayn can't hold back a weird, nervous giggle. Riaz looks puzzled.
Gloria comes back with a glass. "Riaz, buddy, I gotta talk to your uncle alone."
Riaz steps a little in front of Zayn, looking suspicious, like he's getting ready to protect him. Zayn feels a rush of fondness.
"Rizzo," Harry calls, waving Riaz over. "Show me the toys you were telling me about over lunch?"
Riaz brightens and hurries to the stairs. Harry nods at Gloria and Zayn, and then turns to keep an eye on Riaz as he scrambles up, his hands firmly on the railings.
Gloria cuts to the chase as soon as the other two get out of view. "What do you think of taking care of Riaz for a little longer?" she says. "Till, say, this time next year?"
That's definitely not what he'd been expecting. "What?"
"Nadira and Imran's student visas expired four years ago," Gloria says. "My friends at immigration are trying to sort it out. We like them, we want them back, but it's going to take a while."
The first thing he feels is sympathy for his friends, an awful worry. The second, though - "I'm only," Zayn stumbles. "Me?"
"I looked up what I could of you," Gloria says, sitting back. "Twenty-two years old, Bradford born, Muslim. You're going to teach, you've got a specialisation in literature, you're hoping you get to teach art. Your professor mentor thinks the world of you and says you're incredible with her daughter. You're a waiter at the posh Indian place by your uni, and your boss says he only gets mad at you for your disinterest in cricket and football. Your Facebook page is embarrassingly inactive, and from what I could tell just now, there's no alcohol in your fridge, and nothing in the kitchen smelt of weed."
It's pretty thorough for a day's work, and Zayn tells her so. Mentally he notes to himself that green is apparently not in the cards for the rest of his uni life.
"Yeah, but I only looked up your Facebook page on the way over," she confesses with a wink. She flips her file open. "Zain, I like you. I'd rather leave kids with people they love, and the first person Riaz thought of yesterday was you. Nadira and Imran were both also strongly in favour."
"I'll be good with him," Zayn says, knowing this, at least, for sure. "But. He's a kid."
"I know," Gloria says sympathetically. "And babysitting is nothing like being a child's provider and primary caretaker. It's a lot of work."
"Thanks," Zayn says, trying not to get sarcastic with her as he runs through this in his head. Money, they'll need money. Riaz has nursery school every morning. University, classes, coursework. Housing. "And like. Nadi knows I'm living with four other boys, right? Did you tell her?"
"'Course I did," Gloria says. "When I talk to her again tonight I'll tell her one of them even makes a killer beetroot dip."
She digs into her bag and pulls out a thin folder. "Look these over. We're settling on getting an allowance from Child Services, so don't panic."
Zayn stares at her, trying not to panic.
"Sweetheart," Gloria says, her eyes and smile warm. "I know this is a lot. Think about it, okay? Ask Ms Watson, ask your boss, figure something out with your professors. I think you'd have everyone's vote. Ask your housemates, your friends. You may even have their help."
Gloria pushes herself off her chair and Zayn automatically follows. "Riaz, can we talk to you for a second?"
Riaz appears at the staircase in seconds at Gloria's call and starts to hurry down the steps. He slips at the very bottom, a second away from falling flat on his face - Zayn hauls him up before the damage happens, and then lifts him up the rest of the way.
"Almost broke your nose there," Zayn says. "Knees okay?"
Riaz squeezes both his knees to check. "Good," Riaz says, once he's satisfied, wrapping his arm around the back of Zayn's neck. "What's up, kid?"
Zayn bites his lip and looks over to Gloria.
"Love," Gloria says with a small smile. "I'm gonna go take you to your parents now. Up for it?"
Riaz starts nodding vigorously. Zayn puts him down. "Is Ammi okay?"
"Your mum's okay," Gloria says. "But there's things to sort out, yeah? You wanna say bye to Zain?"
Zayn squats down again so Riaz can kiss him on the cheek. "Bye, Zee," he says. "Love you."
"You're my favourite," Zayn says back, feeling warm.
It's what he keeps with him as he thinks, and as he calls his mum for advice.
A stand-in parent means - making sure Riaz is good, taken care of, well fed. That he does his work on time but doesn't close himself off too much, like he tends to do. That he doesn't take Zayn's youth for granted, but that he feels comfortable all the same. That he feels valued and important.
He can be that for Riaz, Zayn thinks. He can be good at being something to someone, even if he's gotten out of the habit of believing it.
He's made the decision within an hour.
Riaz comes back awfully sober, looking like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's easy for Zayn to declare that it's time for an early-evening nap, and they shuffle upstairs.
"Abba said to be not trouble," Riaz says, climbing into bed after Zayn and pressing into him. "Ammi said koftay when she comed back."
"Be all the trouble you want, kid," Zayn says, kissing Riaz on his forehead. "We're family, okay? I'm all yours, whatever you do."
Riaz nods, pressing his nose against Zayn's chest, and then somehow squeezes even closer.
"Do you want to stay with me?" Zayn asks quietly, though he has a feeling he knows the answer.
Riaz's grip on Zayn's t-shirt tightens. "Love you," is all he says.
'You may even have your friends' help' is an optimistic thing to think about someone whose Facebook page you know is dead, Zayn thinks grumpily. There's a lot to do, so much to shift around. He wants Riaz to have at least one consistent thing in his life, so dropping him off at nursery near his old place every morning will have to be a thing, despite his own morning classes. Raj at the restaurant isn't going to mind him bringing a little extra food home after his shifts, but cooking more on other nights is already looking daunting.
Zayn spends two hours Saturday evening trying to sort out what to do, all the changes he has to make. He's two seconds from tearing his hair out, trying not to snap at Riaz, when Louis cracks the door open a notch.
"Harry told me the news," Louis says. He squats down to be on eye-level with Riaz, and then slips into kneeling down fully. "Hey, roomie."
"Roomie," Riaz says, tilting his head to ask if he's right.
"We live together, so we're roomies," Louis explains.
"Roomie," Riaz repeats firmly, and smiles at him brightly. It's the total opposite of the way he looks at Liam - Zayn can't help but hope that Liam never sees, because he's going to feel terrible.
Louis stands back up and glances over at Zayn's desk, double-taking at the mess on top of it.
"Right, that's ridiculous," Louis says. "Zayn, go to the dining table. Riz, follow your Zayn."
Liam is already at the table when they get there, straightening out a thick sheet of A3 paper, the kind Zayn used to get for art lessons as a kid. It's a timetable, sort of, from what Zayn can see - seven days of the week, different coloured Post-Its overlapping time slots, and markings in highlighter. When he leans in closer he can read "LI - WORK!" on an orange Post-It.
"The highlighter bits are Riaz's drop-off and pick-up times, from nursery," Liam says, pointing. "The orange Post-Its are my timetable, the green is Louis', yours is the purple. I haven't asked Niall or Harry yet, but they told me their work shifts, I'll get their classes later - "
"See?" Louis says, pointing at the morning timeslot on Monday. "I can drop Riz off on Mondays because I don't have a class, and I have a car."
"I can help on Thursdays and Fridays, if you need, because my shifts at the studio are at twelve," Liam says. "No car, but Louis'll let me have his."
"I'll take the bus," Louis says.
"Niall's at the uni paper a lot - "
"Polisci kids, I swear to god - "
" - but he's free on Tuesdays to pick Riz up, when no one else is at home." Liam thumbs at the 'Tuesday' slot.
Zayn stares at the sheet. Riaz picks up Zayn's hand, shuffles closer, and drops it on his back, probably so he has a better view. Zayn starts rubbing at his back subconsciously.
"Louis and Niall's idea," says Liam, smiling at Zayn's dumbfounded face.
"All Liam in execution." Louis flicks at Liam's chest.
"Lads," Zayn says, staring at the timesheet. There's even a legend at the very bottom of the paper, he notices off-handedly. He'd seen them all talking the night before, in the kitchen, in the living room - he'd assumed it was about him the way they'd stopped every time he came a little closer to them. In the back of his mind he'd been planning - if they complained to Paul, if they wanted him out -
This is definitely the last thing he'd seen coming. Somehow he's gotten out of the habit of expecting kindnesses. It's a sobering realisation.
"Takes a village, Zayn," Liam says. "Niall told me to tell you that."
It's not help he can refuse, really. He can feel them watching him as he starts to smile.
"Guess I'm buying you dinner," he says, looking up at them. All three of them grin right back.
Zayn and Liam have to drag in two spare chairs from their rooms on the second floor so that all six of them can sit at the table. All of them cram together, and when the doorbell rings, Harry goes to collect the food.
Riaz looks a little overwhelmed, and Zayn sympathises: over the last two days he's seen more of his housemates than he has all month, and even then it was never all at once. it's why Zayn pretends he doesn't notice that Riaz is more on the seat of Zayn's chair than his own.
"Our first house meal," Harry says, dropping the Chinese takeout boxes onto the table. "Plates?"
"We have...five plates and a frisbee!" Niall says. He pushes the pile he's collected to the centre of the table.
"Who gets the frisbee?" asks Liam.
Zayn wants to suggest they skip the plates, but he still doesn't know them very well, yet. "I'll take it," he grumbles instead, reaching for the neon yellow frisbee. To be fair, it does look cleaner than the plates.
"We'll take turns," Louis says, tugging one of the bags towards him.
The guarantee of more dinners like this seems to be enough; something Zayn hadn't even noticed was missing seems to click into place, and everyone suddenly eases.
"We'll start tomorrow," Harry announces. "Liam and I were in cooking club together first year, do you remember Liam?"
"Yes, and I quit because I was awful," Liam says. "You can do the cooking. I'll be your sous chef." He pronounces sous as "soos".
Zayn fights a smile as he offers, "I liked your garlic bread." Liam grins at him from across the table. Riaz huddles closer to Zayn.
Harry's already pulling out his phone, and he taps something out and pushes it over to Liam. Liam shrugs and Harry turns the phone to his other side, showing the screen to Zayn. It's a google search - Harry's got his caps turned on - 'GROUP MEALS STUDENT BUDGET'.
The conversation continues across the table. "That's funny," Niall says, turning to Louis. "Did you take Sociology of Sports? With - "
"Wilson, yeah," Louis says, leaning in across the table. "You know, I was wondering, Irish blond with a limp isn't common, but - "
"Irish blond with a limp was in my basic economics class," Harry says, relinquishing control of his phone to Zayn, who adds 'NO PORK' to the search term. Zayn can see Harry giving Niall a lazy smile from the corner of his eye. "I remember you because you topped the class."
"Sure that's why you remembered me," Niall says wryly, reaching up to mess up his own hair a little in a way that suggests practiced cool. "How did you do?"
"I'm retaking it now," Harry says with a sigh. "I wanted you in my project group. I wanted Zayn in my group for art history, barely passed that one too. Maybe that way he would've remembered me." He nudges at Zayn.
Zayn laughs. "It was a morning class, Harry."
"Are you not a morning person?" Liam says, head tilted in interest. "Did you like the class?"
"I loved art history," Zayn says. And then he keeps going, because everyone's actually listening, even as Louis reaches across the table to yank a carton from Liam. "Hated how much you had to memorise. And having it in the morning - "
"Have you heard him in the kitchen on Mondays, Liam," Niall says. "The fucki - the racket," he corrects himself with a wince, rubbing at his shoulder.
"Children here, Niall," Liam reminds him, shaking his head.
"Mummy gave him a coffee-maker for his birthday," Riaz offers quietly, when everyone turns to look at him. "And comic books. Zain wrapped them in plastic."
"Riz," Zayn groans.
Louis starts to laugh. "Beautiful Zayn," he says, "A massive nerd."
"Did you see that obscure World War I book he keeps leaving on the table here?" Niall asks. He winks at Zayn.
Everyone laughs at that. Riaz does too, even though he doesn't know anything about history or nerd qualifications. Zayn pretends to scowl as Harry slides his free hand around his shoulder.
"There's a coffee-maker in the storeroom," Harry says, giving him a light squeeze.
Liam makes a noise and holds up his hand so no one speaks before he swallows his food. "Paul said there's tools in there, too, wanted to dig around a bit," he says finally. "We can fix the lock on that one bathroom door, I think."
"I can help with tools," Niall says easily. "Lads, I wanted to give you a good impression, but I'm losing the plate."
"Thank you," Zayn says, and everyone drops their plates at once.
"Tomorrow, though," Harry reminds them. "Fancy food."
Zayn and Louis do the cleaning up and head to the living room, where their housemates are sitting on the floor by the TV set, looking bewildered. Louis goes to join them, while Zayn sets course for Riaz, who's sitting alone on the couch and watching them like he's already watching a movie.
"Okay, Riz?" he asks, pitching his voice low.
"Okay, Zee," Riaz assures him, tugging at his hand. "Next to me."
"What about your new friends?" Zayn says, sitting down. "You were laughing at me."
"You're my favourite," Riaz says earnestly. He hugs Zayn from the side.
Zayn grins, pulling Riaz up and onto his lap to return the hug better. "We're going to be living with them for a while. You okay with that?"
"Okay," Riaz says again. "I like them."
"Yeah, they're nice," Zayn agrees, squeezing Riaz's waist a little. "Problem, boys?" he calls.
"This house only has a VCR," Louis says exasperatedly. "None of them know how to work a VCR, Zayn."
"I can - " Zayn offers, starting to shift Riaz's weight so he can pick him up. His dad had clung to his VCR until its dying days, and then he'd bought a maintenance manual for his own repairs.
"I can, too," Louis says, waving him off. "Sit down. Boys, go off, let me work my magic."
"This rug is very comfy," Liam says, sitting firm.
"You just don't want me breaking it," Louis says.
"No, I like this rug," Liam says stubbornly.
Niall pulls out his phone for instructions quietly, nodding at Harry to slip past the other two to get to the machine.
Zayn wants to watch them - watch them figuring each other out, see how strange it is that the easiness of them isn't strange at all - but Riaz falls asleep within minutes, and his warm weight drags him under, too.
Zayn only shifts awake, just a little, when Liam sits next to him and pulls Riaz's legs out onto his thighs.
Zayn doesn't get to talk to Nadira and Imran until a week into their new arrangement.
"Biotechnology is a huge seller," Imran tells him. "If you want to be illegal somewhere, I highly recommend getting that as a degree."
"Very funny," Zayn says, wishing he could whack Imran at the back of his head by reaching through his laptop.
"Zee's gonna be a teacher," Riaz reminds him helpfully.
"You're right, Rizzu," Nadira says warmly. She hasn't stopped watching her son throughout the call - it's making Zayn ache a little. "What else has Zain been doing?"
"Everything," Riaz says. "Bathtime and food and school and shoelaces. But not my homework!"
"Hope he hasn't made you noodles," Imran says.
"No, Ni made the noodles," Riaz says. "Really good."
"Which one's Ni?" Nadira asks, finally looking over at Zayn.
Zayn lifts the laptop and tilts the screen so it faces the kitchen, where Niall and Liam are at the counter discussing takeout options. They've spent more time singing and making each other laugh than anything, though. It's been nice being able to listen, to have that as background noise.
"Niall's the blond one," Zayn says, putting the laptop down again.
"From Irishland," Riaz says. "I like him."
"You mentioned, lovely," Imran says, grinning.
Liam comes out of the kitchen and brushes past them to get to the spare takeout menus they have at the dining table. He's humming softly, and when he looks up and sees Zayn watching, he smiles. Zayn glances away quickly.
"Riaz talked about all of them when we met last week, he likes them all already," Nadira says. "Some luck, finding what you got!"
"He doesn't trust - uh, Liam, though, I think it was," Imran adds. "Said he looks at you funny."
Liam freezes behind him. Zayn glances at Riaz, and then at Liam, both of whom look caught. He has to try very hard not to start laughing.
"What? Is that Liam next to you?" Nadira says in interest. Her eyes have already caught that no-good older-sister glint, the way Doniya's do when she wants to get him flustered. "Liam, mate. I understand. What a face."
"Leave it, Nadi," Zayn says.
"No," Liam says, shaking himself out of it. He rests his hand on Zayn's chair, leaning in so he can be seen. "It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you," Nadira says back. "Thank you for helping with Rizzu here."
"It's no problem," Liam says with a smile. "He's great."
Riaz looks at him doubtfully and Liam winks at him. They both grin at each other suddenly, a tenuous peacefire built on shared understanding, being embarrassed by the same person.
"Oi! Someone needs to help me write a grocery list," Niall yells from the kitchen.
"Me!" Riaz says, hopping off his chair. "Ammi, I'll be right back." He takes two steps, and then turns back. "You too Abba."
Imran bursts out laughing, waving him off. Liam waves as he returns to the kitchen, trailing behind Riaz.
"How are you, bhai," Imran says, smiling at him.
"I'm good, man. Really," Zayn says quickly, when Imran looks like he's going to protest. "The other boys here have helped a lot."
"That's good," Nadira says. "Hoping we'll be back soon."
"Gloria says they like you, whatever that means," Zayn says, and then he finds himself adding, before he even realises he's thinking it, "I'm still not sure why you trust me with this, but - "
"Darling, babe, Zain," Nadira interrupts. "If this is about you not being able to deal, tell me. But if this is you worrying about what I think of you - you're one of the best people I know."
"You don't have to prove anything to us," Imran says. "And if it becomes too much, tell Gloria. We'll all understand."
Zayn nods once, and then keeps nodding, thinking it over, feeling a little more settled. "Okay."
Louis had seemed all right from a distance, but the first few times they'd really talked Zayn had felt a little thrown, a little intimidated - he's loud at a volume Zayn recognises from his own family members, but in a different way, where he expects something back from you. Zayn is much better at nodding and letting people keep their own side of the conversation going - he doesn't like having things to say.
They're both night owls, though, prone to bursts of productivity at 11 p.m., an inclination towards stomping around in the kitchen to clear their heads. A little recalibration over repeated exposure is all they'd needed for Zayn to realise the kind of person he'd been missing - someone to yank him out of his head, sometimes, and someone for his quiet, other times. Louis is better at quiet than anyone he knows, other than his dad.
"I was thinking," Louis says, shuffling into the kitchen one night. "I've had a class with all the other boys. Have you?"
Zayn shrugs. "I think so? Maybe not with you?"
"No, you were in a class I TA'ed last year," Louis says. "Feels a bit...destiny, doesn't it?"
Zayn files away the second question for later, too preoccupied with the first. "What class did you TA?"
"Western classic lit?"
"Oh, yeah," Zayn says, and winces as he remembers. "Yeah. Sorry you had to deal with those first two assignments."
"Same as anyone," Louis says easily, grinning. "You were good by the end, weren't you? Z J Malik?"
"Thank you, I'd like to think I was," Zayn says, lifting himself onto the kitchen counter. The microwave clock says it's one in the morning. Zayn comes down at 12:55 every night that he's awake, when he knows Louis will be there, but Louis doesn't need to know that.
"Classics aren't for everyone," Louis points out. "I'm just fucking good at it. Don't even major in lit."
"My mentor told me I had to get more lit in outside of contemporary stuff, you know?" Zayn says. "If I want to teach it."
Louis brightens, hopping onto the counter next to him. "I want to teach, too," Louis says. "Secondary?"
Zayn nods, feeling his shoulders loosen a little. Everyone except Caroline's been a little dismissive about his decision to switch degrees - his instinct these days is to tighten up as soon as they approach the topic. "Older kids, you know? I'm taking the ITT after I graduate. You?"
"I'd really like to do primary school," Louis says. He unfurls a little, too, hooking an arm over Zayn's shoulders as he straightens out his legs. "One of my old teachers rec'ced me for training at a school here, hopefully I'll be absorbed after."
"That's cool," Zayn says, grinning at him. "Staying in London, you think?"
"Yeah," Louis says. "I'd miss the girls - and don't you dare tell my mum I include her in that - but I like it here. Feels right."
"Yeah," Zayn echoes.
They're quiet for a while, Louis leaning a little more heavily against Zayn.
"What about you?" Louis asks, knocking his knee against Zayn's. "London?"
"I'm not sure yet, I think? With what to do?" Zayn says slowly. "I don't know anyone else who wants to teach. Haven't got around to talking about it."
"Secondary is good," Louis says. "But you're good with kids, too."
"I mean, I'm good with Riz," Zayn corrects. "Helps that I look like him, you know? It's easier for him. And you just look like a lazy wank - ow," he complains, twisting away.
"You're good with kids," Louis says again, a little louder, pretending he hasn't heard anything Zayn said. "You could do whatever you want, I think."
It's been a while since Zayn's been on the receiving end of this kind of certainty, this kind of warmth. He ducks his head, trying to hide a smile.
"Let me know when you start applying to schools, yeah?" Louis says, his smile curving into something knowing. "I'll talk you into everything you're thick enough to think you're not good enough for."
It gets cold earlier than usual this year, and it probably doesn't help that they're closer to the suburbs than the city. He sees his housemates much more than he'd expected to now - a combination of their timetable and the way the cold triggers hibernation mode in everyone.
Zayn had missed this: people he cares about in the same room, the gentle ebb of conversation that he's under no obligation to take part in. His old roommates weren't much for nights in, and when they were it was usually because they'd invited people over. He'd wanted it this summer, had hoped for it badly when he'd gone back home, but his sisters had grown up in the years he'd spent away.
Here, on the other hand, at least three of them end up being at home every night. They make and eat dinner together, leaving a little extra for anyone who's out for the night, clear up, and then sort themselves out in the living room. Sometimes it's with textbooks. Sometimes it's with video games at low volume. Sometimes, usually when all of them are home, it's just TV with commentary. Niall and Harry find the first four seasons of Friends and the '90s Disney Classics on VHS at an attic sale nearby.
Zayn makes sure he's at home every night that he doesn't have a late shift at the restaurant, and he gets the feeling the others try to do the same. Riaz makes sure everyone knows he loves having them back - he takes turns sitting next to the other boys for dinner, though he returns to Zayn by the time they trek to the living room.
Zayn loves it. He likes to think the feeling is mutual, that it goes beyond affection for just Riaz - that they all like one another. That they're here for Zayn, too, maybe. The way he's here for all of them.
"You've got mail," Liam says, throwing the envelope over at Zayn as he walks past the dining table to the stairs.
"Probably my check from Child Services," Zayn says, rubbing his eyes. It's the first time he's looked up in close to two hours, his textbooks, notes and laptop artfully placed around the table for maximum accessibility and maximum exposure. "Riz at his mate's?"
"Yes, sir!" Liam calls from upstairs. "Others home yet?"
"Dunno," Zayn says. "I know Niall is."
Liam comes back down the stairs, the look on his face halfway to a wince. "Think he's listening to Linkin Park."
"Yeah. Pissed him off a bit, I think," Zayn says, avoiding Liam's eyes by shuffling the books around. "Can you switch the light on?"
Liam obliges, then slips back around the table to sit next to him. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really," Zayn says.
"I know he was talking about going out for drinks tonight," Liam ventures. "Called it our night off."
"Didn't ask him to have nights on," Zayn says mulishly.
Zayn doesn't have to glance over to know Liam's levelling him a look.
"All you wanted moving in here was cheap rooms," Zayn says with a sigh. "And now you have a kid to be responsible for? That's not why you're here. I know that. We're barely dealing with graduating with upper seconds."
"Speak for yourself."
"Li," Zayn says.
"Zayn." Liam shakes his head. "Is that the only thing you think we got, moving here?"
"And I fucking hate going out," Zayn barrels on. "The only thing Brett ever wanted to do was go to fucking parties, fucking clubs, I'm so sick of it. I want to stay at home."
"Hm," Liam says, his tone considering. "Is that what you told Niall, or did you just do that thing you do, that 'I'm mad but I'll let you figure it out' thing."
"What thing," Zayn says, trying not to scowl.
"That thing you did when I accidentally threw out the milk carton." Liam nudges closer.
"They're good for washing paintbrushes." Liam always does this, always finds the part of him that needs prodding to drain the tension out. The anger in his spine seeps out, and he sets his forehead on the table. "And I don't want to go out for drinks."
"Hm," Liam says again, this time in what Harry calls his Dad Voice. "He's told you about his nephew?"
Zayn rolls his head to the side to squint up at Liam. "He told me he hasn't been home for more than two weeks in three years."
"His nephew's almost six," Liam offers. "Niall wants to go to a pub with four of his closest mates, and Riz reminds him of home. Give us some credit, yeah?"
"None of us were even talking before Riz had to come stay," Zayn points out. "You remember?"
"Yeah," Liam says. "Have I thanked you for that yet?"
Zayn narrows his eyes at him, bemused and disbelieving, and Liam grins back.
"Give us some credit," Liam repeats, reaching to lightly push Zayn's hair out of his eyes. "You didn't tell us to do anything."
Zayn straightens as soon as Liam pulls his hand away, turning it over in his head as they sit in silence.
"Pub, or should we drop by an off-license?" Liam asks finally.
"Pub," Zayn decides, getting up from his seat. "I'll go talk to Ni, then."
"I'll text Harry and Lou," Liam says, shooing him off.
It's after a full-house dinner and a bad-quality copy of The Mask one night that Zayn stirs a little, feeling someone shift behind him.
"Shh," Liam whispers. "You'll wake Riz up."
Even with that it takes Zayn a second to notice the little body tucked under one of his arms, using his other arm as a pillow - he'd fallen asleep without him there, he's pretty sure. They're on the floor, on the thick rug they'd all chipped in to get laundered after they'd realised how much they were going to use it. The TV is off, the lights low. Zayn can hear one of the boys shuffling to his room from the bathroom upstairs - Niall, probably; he gets noisier the later it gets.
"Gonna have to invest in a futon if you keep doing this," Liam continues lowly.
Zayn hums in agreement, closing his eyes again. Harry had been making a lengthy case for it just a few days ago, and Zayn's definitely in favour if it means getting to fall asleep listening to the boys talking every night.
"Time issit," he mumbles, shifting backwards just a bit, just enough to encourage Liam to press a little closer.
"Almost eleven, old man," Liam says, amused. "The others went up to their rooms. Do you want to - "
"I'll stay," Zayn says. "You stay, too."
Zayn can hear Liam holding his breath, pausing before he loosens, pressing into Zayn's back more comfortably. His knees tuck in a little closer to the backs of Zayn's, and he lifts his arm and rests it lightly near the top of Zayn's thigh. He slides it up a little more and then stops, just before he reaches Zayn's waist. Zayn doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed.
Zayn opens his eyes again, watching Riaz's eyebrows furrow in his sleep. The only thing keeping Zayn from reaching out to smooth his forehead is how nice he feels here, and how much it feels like what's surrounding them is something that can break if he takes a step out of place.
"I have class at eight tomorrow," Zayn says, instead of moving at all.
"Got to be at the studio at eight, too," Liam says slowly. His breath is warm against the nape of Zayn's neck, but not in the too-close, sticky way he'd always thought that kind of proximity would feel. "I'll wake you up. Go back to sleep."
Weekly phone calls with his mum have doubled in length this semester, with all the news he has to update her on - the state of the bathroom locks (one done, the other beyond Liam's handiwork, even if he refuses to admit it), Riaz's marks for maths (full, for three pieces of homework in a row), the last week of dinner recipes (they're topping it off with gratin and bruschetta tonight). And she has two people to fret over now, instead of just the one.
"Mum, we're fine," Zayn says. He walks away from the counter when Riaz keeps kicking at him and gives him an unimpressed look. "I'm fine," he corrects. "There's a little brat here who's asking for it, though."
"Zee!" Riaz says, stretching his arms towards him. "I'm sorry. Down, please."
"Is that Riz," his mum says, her voice lightening. "Give him the phone."
"Do you remember my mum, babe?" Zayn asks, walking back. He looks at Riaz's legs and then up at him again warningly. "You met her during Eid last year."
Riaz stays put, giving him an innocent smile. "Yes," he says. "Phone."
"Phone," his mother says into his ear at the same time.
Zayn sighs, handing Riaz his phone. Riaz kisses his arm as he pulls away and Zayn rolls his eyes, trying to hide a smile.
Niall laughs at him from where he's cutting vegetables at the counter. "All right?" he asks, poking at Zayn's waist with his elbow.
"Yeah, mum just worries sometimes," Zayn says, shaking his head a little. He'd probably given her reason for it this summer, maybe.
Niall slants a look at him, like he knows, somehow. "Pull your weight a bit," he says instead. "We need tomatoes."
He's halfway through the dicing when Riaz gives him his phone back. "Auntie wants to make me samosas," Riaz says balefully.
"Auntie knows we're already coming over for a day next month," Zayn says, putting the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Day ticket, mum," he reminds her. They both know it's the cheapest option.
"I know," his mother says with a sigh. "He doesn't want to leave all your boys behind, either. Tell them to come?"
"Maybe another time," Zayn says, hefting Riaz up off the counter and setting him on the floor. "I'm sure Raj's samosas will tide Niall over for now."
"Samosas!" Niall cheers, raising his fist in the air. He reaches down to bump Riaz's fist, and they go 'boom!' when their hands touch - a new thing Riaz's forced on everyone after learning it in nursery school.
"Riaz says you're very busy in the kitchen," his mother says. He can hear her smile. "I'll talk to you soon, sunshine. Call when your dad's home, next time."
Zayn scoffs. "How was I supposed - "
"Love you. Glad you're happy," she says, and ends the call.
Zayn puts the phone down, still smiling a little. Riaz snags it off the counter and runs to the living room yelling 'Lou!', which he'll worry about later.
"Did I tell you I knew Brett?" Niall says abruptly. "Friend of a friend."
Niall knows very well he hadn't told him that. Zayn's good mood melts away. "No," he says, stiffening.
"He mentioned you a couple of times," Niall continues. "Said you were pretty quiet. Kind of unknowable."
"Yeah," Zayn says. He has to tell himself to keep cutting. That sounds like Brett.
"Then we started living together." Niall pushes the chopping board aside and leans against the counter. "And I thought you were being difficult. On purpose, like. Never said anything, always up in your room."
"I'm not that difficult," Zayn says finally, when he realises Niall's been waiting for a reply.
"I know that now, don't I?" Niall says. "You're a dick sometimes, yeah. But I like you. Full marks, overall." He waits till Zayn looks up at him to add, the smile on his face light, "He seemed like kind of a prick."
Zayn shrugs.
Niall stands there quietly until Zayn's done with the tomatoes, and he tugs the board over. "And like. Quiet and unknowable? You sing all over the house. And you haven't read more than thirty pages in that World War I book."
"Shut up," Zayn says, feeling himself ease as he flushes for an entirely different reason. He'd been moving the bookmark everyday and everything, how had that not been enough?
"Don't worry, Zayn, I won't tell anyone," Niall says loyally, sliding an arm around Zayn's waist. "I'll lie for you."
"Fuck off," Zayn says, shoving at him with a laugh.
"We'll read the Wiki summary and read all the GoodReads reviews - "
"I kissed him," Zayn says suddenly, his voice feeling over-loud over the volume of his thoughts. His overthinking, as Brett would say. "Um, Brett. I liked him, and I kissed him. We got drunk the night before my train back to Bradford."
"Pan," Niall says quietly.
Zayn ducks down to get the pan out of the cupboard, grateful that he can say this without Niall looking right at him. "I woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. He'd gone home. I haven't talked to him. Since."
"A prick," Niall says firmly. "He didn't even try."
"I don't know," Zayn starts. If it hadn't felt right, it hadn't felt right; that's nothing he can blame Brett for. And changing apartments - that'd been a cock thing to do, but. Look at what he got from it.
"Don't you?" Niall says, his voice sharp. "Two years and he gives you unknowable?"
He looks like he has more to say, but Riaz stumbles in holding Zayn's phone, which is much more of a thing he needs to worry about.
Niall taps him on his nose, then lets his fingers jump to tap the centre of his stomach. "We'll talk World War I later," he says.
Zayn's phone rings the minute he gets off-shift, like someone's been watching the clock for it. "Hello?"
"Hey, babe." The reception's a little fuzzy with the storm outside, but Zayn knows Liam's voice, if only for the way something in him automatically warms in response. "Want a ride home?"
"Don't drive out now," Zayn says. "There's a bus - "
"I'm already outside," Liam says, leaving no room for argument. Before Zayn can say anything else, he adds, "Had to talk to a professor after class."
Zayn doesn't believe him at all - Liam's been wary of anyone going home on their own in this kind of weather. He'd be more annoyed about it if he didn't know this is just what Liam does. Zayn likes him very much for many reasons, and this has become one of them - his steady, usually-quiet,-sometimes-loud caring.
"Fine, but come in first," Zayn barters, knocking at the kitchen counter and holding up two fingers. "Mallika's making us tea."
Mallika salutes at him, smirking, and yells, "Corner romance table for Zayn!"
"I'm coming in," Liam says.
He's already laughing, so there's no point asking if he heard. Zayn purses his lips, embarrassed. If Mallika weren't his favourite colleague, they'd be having words.
"Come in by the back," Zayn says instead, and ends the call. He hits Mallika with his notepad as he walks to the back door.
"Come in by the back," Mallika says. "Ooh."
Zayn tosses two fingers over at her as he makes his way to the door. He yanks it open to Liam, who's just raising his fist to knock.
Liam smiles at him as soon as he sees his face, and then pauses, looking him over. Zayn's very satisfied to see his jaw drop - just a bit, but just enough to see.
"Zayn," Liam says. He tugs at Zayn's undone bowtie.
"Come on," Zayn says, biting back a smile, feeling a little more in control again. He turns around to head to the table closest to the kitchen.
"Hi, Leeeee-am," Mallika says, lilting the way she always does when she's imitating Zayn. Two years and it still sounds awful.
"Good evening," Liam says. "Thank you for the tea!"
Mallika widens her eyes, throwing an impressed glance at Zayn. "What manners!"
Zayn rolls his eyes as he takes his seat - at the 'corner romance table', which needs to be lit from two warm standing lamps because the lights from the main section don't reach far enough. He kicks back, glad he's gotten the chance to sit instead of having to run for the next bus.
There's a minute of chattering before Liam follows, holding two glass cups with his fingers at the rim.
"How was your day?" Zayn asks, taking a cup and holding it between both palms.
"Dropped Riz off, went to class, nothing new," Liam says. He's propped his chin on his hand instead of starting on his tea, watching him unabashedly. "Is this what you always wear?"
"It's a fancy restaurant, Liam," Zayn says haughtily, knocking his knee against Liam's. "We have fancy attires."
Liam keeps smiling, but it gets a little more certain, a little more rooted to something that Zayn can't decipher yet. "You look good," he says. "I like the bowtie."
"I hate it," Zayn says, his voice going softer than he'd meant it to. "But thanks."
Liam shrugs, looking around the restaurant now. It takes Zayn a second to realise Liam's curved a leg around his, locking him into place between his shins. It takes him a second longer to realise he doesn't want to shift away.
They've got a ride home, since they have the car. Knowing the London weather, they've got at least an hour before the rain thins enough for more comfortable driving. Riaz is sorted for evening plans - he's going to help create flashcards to help Niall study.
And Liam is here, watching him, tired but genuinely present, his eyes keen and warm. His hair looks like he'd run his fingers through it just before coming in; it looks a little damp, a little ruffled. He's here, and it's just for Zayn, ready for whatever it is that he gives him.
Zayn hunches closer, putting the glass down on the table, and lets his other leg lean on the outside of Liam's. They have time.
It's well into December before they realise it's time to buy the cheapest plastic Christmas tree they can find. They set out in the morning - Riaz, bursting with excitement, is first out of the door, followed by Liam, who hurries to keep an eye on him. Niall and Louis reluctantly bring up the rear, leaning heavily on each other.
Harry ropes Zayn into post-finals cookie-baking duty, but they end up on the couch on the walk over from the front door and they fall back asleep, cuddled into each other.
It's almost noon by the time Zayn stirs awake again, his head on the side of Harry's thigh.
"Get a controller," Harry says.
"Beating me when I'm half-asleep isn't going to count," Zayn warns, taking the game controller off the coffee table.
"I've been practicing!" Harry exclaims.
Zayn beams at him, poking his cheek. "All right, Haz."
Harry grins back, keeping his eyes on the game. "You know, I was thinking - "
"Watching me sleep," Zayn teases.
"Remember when I asked you why you chose teaching?" Harry says in a rush, and Zayn can see him glance at him from the corner of his eye.
"I do," Zayn says slowly.
"I think I'm considering psychology?"
Zayn tries to remember exactly what Caroline had done for him when they'd first talked about him changing degrees - the precise ways she'd helped. And then he lets that go, because this is Harry.
"I like that," he says. "I like that for you."
"Yeah? You think?" Harry says. Something in him gets a little bolder, pulls him up, as his grin loses the nervous edge it'd had.
"I do think," Zayn says. "You're good with the science stuff, you're good with the people stuff."
Harry ducks his head, the way Zayn knows he does when he's given these tiny, kind things. "I've already taken so many psych courses that I'll be able to clear the requirements by next semester."
"You must've known already, yeah?" Zayn says, letting Harry slide ahead of him in their Mario Kart race.
"Yeah," Harry says slowly, sounding a little awed. "Subconsciously, like."
Donkey Kong careens suddenly off-course, and Zayn sighs - if Harry's going to lose even when he gives him a chance -
"I was thinking," Harry says again.
"Mm," Zayn prompts, knowing not to break the moment for the joke any of them would make.
" - wish we'd met earlier," Harry says. "Like, everyone. But I wish I'd met you."
It's too nice to let off easy. Zayn sidles up closer to him and knocks Harry's controller out of his hand before he pauses the game. He forestalls Harry's complaints by throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezing them lightly.
"Why do you say that?" Zayn says, knowing he's fishing a little as he presses his cheek into Harry's shoulder.
He wishes he'd met all these boys earlier. His boys, as his mum calls them.
"Your looks, my charm?" Harry reaches over with his free hand and chucks Zayn's chin. "Wingman match made in heaven."
"I can still be your wingman now, bro," Zayn points out. "Just like, foist Riz off on one of the other lads for a night."
"My club nights are over, Zayn," Harry says, his laugh warm. "One of my best mates is basically married with a kid."
"If you're talking about me - " Zayn says, caught off-guard.
"Of course it's you," Harry says, easy as anything. "Who else would it be? Everyone I know who graduated and moved out last year? My friends at radio that I haven't talked to much out of broadcast since October? Or the people I've been eating dinner with every night?"
Zayn pokes Harry's nose. Point.
"And honestly," Harry continues. "It was one thing when Riz came to cuddle up to you on that rug every night. Liam does it now, too."
Zayn bites back any response, including the smile threatening to spread across his face. Harry's looking at him knowingly, though, and Zayn wonders when he'd started being so easy to figure out. His poker face used to be killer.
The front door's thrown open before Zayn can say anything else.
"Where are my cookies?" Louis says loudly, strolling into the room.
Niall and Liam and Riaz come in behind him, carrying a surprisingly decent-looking half-sized plastic tree. Riaz is holding the edge of the stand with both hands, gripping it in a way that shows he's barely holding it at all; when he lets go, though, both Niall and Liam drop the tree indulgently.
Louis flicks both Zayn and Harry on the forehead as he heads into the kitchen. "Lazy buggers."
"You can put it in the corner of the room," Riaz says, walking over to the couch. "You can do it."
Niall starts to laugh, starting to drag the plant to the corner of the room. Harry laughs too, holding out his hand for a high-five.
"I'm funny," Riaz says, turning to smile at Zayn. "You knowed that?"
"Knew that, yeah," Zayn says, tugging lightly at Riaz's nose. "Wanna give Harry lessons?"
"Harry's funny," Riaz says, looking insulted.
Harry cheers as he heaves Riaz up. "Riz! Rizzo. My hero, my man."
Riaz beams and pokes Harry's cheek. Harry grins automatically, first at Riaz, and then, softer, at Zayn.
"You do that to me too," Harry tells Zayn. "Did you know that?"
Zayn shifts his weight, feeling oddly pleased. He knows what Harry's implying - influence. Familiarity.
"You're doing fine," Harry says, bending back down to where he's sittings and kissing him on his cheek.
Riaz leans in and does it too, and, when he pulls away, pats Zayn's cheek. "Love you," Riaz says.
"Love you too, kid," Zayn says, knowing his smile must look goofy.
Harry must decide that the conversation's over - he turns around. "Off to bake cookies before King Louis has our heads. Rizzoli and Styles." He turns back to glance at Zayn. "Rizzoli and Styles. What do you think?"
Riaz starts to giggle, like he knows shit about any TV show that isn't Spongebob or Power Rangers.
Zayn rolls his eyes. "Fantastic," he says drily, and lifts his leg off the floor to pretend he's aiming a kick at his arse. "Go off."
You can get used to the London rain, but London rain in winter you can never really prepare for. Zayn's cold and annoyed, his clothes sopping and heavy, when he steps in past the gate at home. It's just late enough, according to the last time he checked his phone, for the boys to be watching something in the living room together. If he does things fast, they won't even notice he's gone, and he can fall asleep on the rug before the climax of the film starts.
Riaz, though, is running out as soon as Zayn locks the gate behind him.
"Don't get wet!" Zayn warns, hurrying towards the door now the endpoint's in view. "You'll get sick."
Riaz obediently waits just where the roof stops, close enough to the edge that the cuffs of his pyjama pants start to darken. "I may get sick," Riaz says intelligently. "You'll get sick."
"Yeah," Zayn says with a resigned sigh, and cups Riaz's face quickly as he moves past him to the front door.
The door swings open.
"Towel," Liam commands, and Harry throws one at him from behind. Riaz tugs at the backpack Zayn's got hanging off one shoulder, while Liam starts rubbing furiously at Zayn's shoulders and torso.
Harry steps around the mass of them and starts ushering them further indoors.
"Told you to pack an umbrella," Liam chides.
Zayn shrugs (Riaz yelling "yes!" triumphantly when he finally gets the backpack as it rolls off his shoulder). "It was eight in the morning."
Liam grins at him knowingly, shifting the towel up to his hair.
"Husband and child have been waiting for you for an hour," Harry says, thrusting a change of clothes into his hands.
Zayn fights a blush as Liam looks between them curiously. "The bus broke down."
"I offered to pick you up!" Louis argues from the kitchen over the hum of the microwave. "What did I do, Zayn?"
The three of them in the hall roll their eyes as Zayn pulls off his T-shirt and slips on the warm, thick sweater he's been given - it looks like Niall's, he thinks off-handedly, it's that shade of green. He shuffles off to the Curtain Bathroom to get his trousers changed, wash off a little of the rain.
He can hear the sound of the television from the hallway by the time he makes his way back; the boys did start watching something, they hadn't noticed he was gone. But - there's a free spot for him at the centre of the couch when he enters the room, and when he sits down Louis hands over the steaming bowl he's holding.
"Niall and Harry argued over chilli tonight," he introduces. "Enjoy."
On his other side, Liam's hand slips under his knee and he tugs it in so Zayn's knee rests against his. Zayn obligingly shifts his whole weight towards the line of his shoulder, the heat of his thigh.
"How was work," Liam asks lowly.
Riaz shuffles backwards from where he's sitting on the floor so he's leaning against the front of the couch, and Zayn reaches to scratch his head automatically.
"Slow," Zayn says. "Customers kept coming in for two drinks and didn't leave for an hour."
Louis shuffles around and ends up leaning fully on Zayn, resting his head on Zayn's shoulder. "Shh," he says lazily.
"Yummy stuff, lads," Zayn says extra-loudly on purpose, giving Harry a thumbs-up sign. Louis makes the motion to punch him in the knee, but his fist barely makes an impact, sliding across the material instead.
"What did you think of the cinnamon?" Harry asks immediately.
"Nice touch," Zayn says. Riaz looks back at him and shakes his head in warning, but Zayn already knows that he has to add, "I liked it without from last time, too."
"See? You don't appreciat - " Niall starts.
Harry glares at Niall and then pushes him over to the floor. Riaz throws himself on Niall's back, yelling. Louis makes a soft, sleepy noise of protest as he buries himself deeper into Zayn's shoulder.
Zayn glances at Liam, who calmly increases the volume on the TV set.
Coming back from Bradford is, for the first time, not as disorienting as it's been for the last two years. What does throw him off is running into Brett the week after he gets back.
They're grocery shopping, of all things, after Zayn picks Riaz up from nursery. Riaz is begging for a Freddo, not knowing that the only reason Zayn's refusing is the bag he's already hidden at the bottom of the basket.
"Aw, come on, Zayn," Brett says. "Just one chocolate."
Zayn looks up at once. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Riaz stopping and staring at Brett suspiciously. Zayn knows his own face looks blank as he looks him over.
Brett looks good, sharp and crisp despite the snow softening his silhouette. He looks exactly the same, Zayn thinks nonsensically, like he's supposed to have changed in eight months. Like everyone he knows would've changed in eight months, the way Zayn knows he himself has.
"It's okay," Riaz decides beside him, dropping the chocolate back onto the shelf. "Next time."
"Hi," says Zayn.
"Hey," Brett replies with a smile. "You look good."
"Thanks," Zayn says, letting that shake him out of the weird haze he's in. Compliments were never Brett's thing. He remembers that. "You good?"
"I'm really good," Brett says. "Better now I've seen you."
Zayn feels his face heat, even as he feels foolish for it. Eight months, he reminds himself, and gives Brett a tight smile instead.
"Zee," Riaz says patiently. "Lou needs pasta."
Brett raises an eyebrow and Zayn knows, immediately, that he's going to make the same fucking noodles joke they've all made for two years -
"Riz is right," he says firmly. "We need to get home. Nice to see you," he adds by rote.
"I'll call you tomorrow," Brett says, pointing at him. "We can do dinner, yeah?"
"Sure," Zayn says easily, counting on the fact that Brett never calls. With any luck, he thinks, they won't encounter each other again.
Brett does call him the next day, though, his voice warm and familiar down the line as he asks to meet him at the sandwich bar ten minutes from their old flat. Zayn thinks he can hear Danny yell in the background before the call gets cut.
He waits for five minutes before he realises Brett isn't going to call back.
At some point in the last few months, Zayn's attempts at trying to forget about Brett actually succeeded. The problem is, seeing Brett again, all of it's brought back in an unpleasant rush, and he has the same questions he'd had before.
Zayn still doesn't know what went wrong, exactly - not that night in May, nor through all of summer. He doesn't know why just thinking about their friendship makes him feel unsettled now, out of step. He's always thought of Brett - and Danny, to a lesser extent - as the anchor of his university experience - even though, looking back, it may not have been a mutual feeling. He doesn't know whose mistake it is, who it was that approached it wrongly.
But he has friends now, doesn't he? Surely he's changed, surely he's started doing it right.
Surely there's something he has to prove.
see you tmr, Zayn texts.
Riaz doesn't approve at all.
"I don't like him," he says, crossing his arms. "No."
Zayn shrugs on his coat and checks for his wallet. "Yes," he says. "And the bus is here in ten, so - "
"I don't like him," Niall agrees. "Remember what he said about you."
"And I'm better than that now, aren't I?" Zayn asks sharply, turning to face him. "Unknowable, boring?"
"You were never those things," Niall says with a sigh. "He was just wrong."
The sound of the TV in the living room lowers, like there's no one in the house not listening.
"Don't," Zayn says. "Don't pretend you haven't told me off before. I've got so pissy with you - "
"I told you, you're an arse sometimes," Niall concedes. "But you're worth the effort. You were never not better than Brett."
"Eight minutes," Zayn says, and Niall raises his hands and steps back, visibly giving up.
"Stay home," Riaz says. "I like our boys more."
"I'm not - we're staying right here, Riz," Zayn says, perplexed. "I'm only going out for dinner. One night."
"And they like you more," Riaz says plainly.
Well.
When Zayn turns around again, Niall is leaning on the door ledge, his arms crossed, his eyes guarded. He raises his eyebrows when their eyes meet.
The volume of the TV increases again.
"I was out with Lou one night last month," Niall says conversationally. "He told me he had to come home by one - he has a standing appointment in the kitchen. He told me not to tell you, but."
Zayn bites at the inside of his mouth, ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks, in his ears. "Okay."
"Okay," Niall repeats, looking over Zayn one more time. "You're known here, yeah?"
Zayn brushes past Niall and heads to the front door, pausing only to slip on his boots.
He glances up one more time to grab his keys and meets Liam's gaze - it's heavy, assessing, the light from the TV flickering against his face. The corner of his mouth crooks into a smile, and he nods up at Zayn.
Zayn's a little surprised to see Brett already at the bar - not just that he's early, but he's there at all.
"Got us the usual," Brett says in greeting.
"Thanks," Zayn says, sliding into the seat that Brett kicks out from under the table. "How are things?"
"Good, good. Exactly the same," Brett says. "You know. Nothing's really changed."
It's so incongruous to the kind of experience Zayn's had that it cuts a little - things have changed for him, so much.
Zayn glances up to see Brett staring at him steadily, like he's waiting for something. He's used to be watched, these days, but in a different way; he's used to being observed and understood. He's forgotten what it's like to be provoked.
He stays silent, though. He waits for something right back.
"Like your new house?" Brett says, knocking his knife against his plate.
"It's fine," Zayn says shortly. "It's great."
"Great," Brett echoes. "Heard Horan's there too. He's cool. Mustn't talk to you a lot."
He called you a prick, Zayn thinks smugly. "We're fine," he says. "How's Danny?"
"Having a blast, as usual," Brett says. Even the way he laughs suddenly grates - it feels put on, forced to get a specific reaction. "You really should call, he misses you."
"Sure," Zayn says. "I'll call."
The conversation tapers out as abruptly as it starts, and the silence that follows is tense. A year ago this would've made him feel unnerved. He would've tried harder, tried to bridge the gaps, feeling off-kilter, feeling unlike himself. Now Zayn only feels increasingly comfortable, increasingly certain in the knowledge that he hasn't missed a thing with Brett.
He knows what it feels like with people who try right back.
"Hey," Brett says finally, tugging at Zayn's arm from across the table as their meals arrive. "Feels like you're out of it, here."
"Yeah," Zayn says, digging into his sandwich with gusto. He notices, off-handedly, that Brett didn't tell them to hold the cucumber for his side-salad. Zayn hates cucumber.
Brett's face turns into something almost ugly, and Zayn can practically feel the wind of the conversation turn. "This is the problem with you. Have you ever - "
"Have I ever been in it?" Zayn finishes for him.
Brett stares at him, the set of his face challenging.
"I kissed you," Zayn says, his tone measured. "And I told you I liked you. I called you after we fucked. If that wasn't enough - "
"Please," Brett says. "Like I didn't have to drag that out of you every step of the way. You never left the house, you never left your room. When you came out you'd just - sit there - I don't know why I ever tried - "
He doesn't even try. Zayn feels his cheeks heat, something in him shaken loose.
If Brett's version of trying is this - if the way that he cares is letting him keep tripping, letting him keep falling over - if their friendship was what made Zayn forget that there's plenty in him to like, plenty about him to work for -
His new friends - his boys, they would've noticed if he left. They wouldn't have said nothing's changed, they wouldn't pretend. He's something to them. They like him more.
Brett's all right, maybe, for someone else. For Danny, who's bright on his own, who has friends on his own. For people who like Asian-style noodles. But he's also a fucking twat.
"I'm out," Zayn says, pushing his chair back. "You're covering this, right? I'll do it next time."
There isn't going to be a next time, he hopes Brett knows. He leaves.
Zayn takes the first bus, but walks home instead of waiting for the second, needing the space to think before he has to deal with the questions, the noise of the TV.
The house is unusually quiet, though, when Zayn gets back home, the only light coming from the living room. The room is empty, too, but there's an open textbook on the couch. Zayn sits down beside it heavily, the day coming together and crashing over him, leaving him suddenly exhausted.
"Oh."
Liam sets his steaming mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, and glances at Zayn sidelong before he sinks into the seat right next to him.
"That bad?" Liam says lightly, pressing his fingers against Zayn's elbow.
Zayn shakes his head. "Kind of just confirmed a couple of theories," he says ruefully. "I mean, it wasn't really - surprising? Brett is - he's not bad, but - "
"Nah," Liam says. "He's an arse."
Zayn grins and lets himself slide a little further down in his seat. He rests his head against Liam's upper arm. "I guess if I keep waiting for people to get drunk to want me," he says, trailing off.
He can feel Liam jerk a bit, startled, and it takes him a second to realise how it might have sounded.
"You were all right, though," Zayn consoles, starting to yawn. "We're fine."
"Zayn." Liam pauses, long enough that Zayn thinks he has nothing else to say. "You know I don't drink, right?"
"Yeah," Zayn says. "No alcohol in the fridge. You don't drink now."
"No, I never drink," Liam says. "D'you remember we had that class together? Comics and Isms?"
"Of course I remember," Zayn says, feeling more awake by the second. He straightens and glances at Liam, then looks away. "You asked me for my notes, once."
"Yeah." Liam throws his head back against the top of the cushions, staring at the ceiling. "I was going to ask you out."
Zayn blinks, a little dazed. That implies -
"You were so hot? But you never talked in class, and none of your notes had your name on. Just a bunch of weird doodles."
Zayn can't take his eyes off of him, off the side of his face Zayn can see. Liam must feel the weight of the way Zayn is staring at him, but he doesn't look back at him.
"So many fucking doodles," Liam says, sounding unbearably fond. "You're such a loser."
"Liam."
"That night at the party - you looked...you know you look incredible." Liam's mouth lifts in a small smile. "Got nervous. Had to get drunk to even ask you for your name. Liquid courage, or whatever."
"No," Zayn says, knowing he's wrong even as he starts to say it. "You talked to me because you were drunk."
"I'd wanted to talk to you the whole time, Zayn," Liam says wryly. "Not just that night. Not just because I was drunk."
"I, um. I thought you were cute?" Zayn says, before he can think it through. "That time with the notes, and at Matt's party. I just didn't think you meant it. Because."
"Well," Liam says simply. He sits up, letting their eyes meet. "I'm sober now. I'd always want to know your name, if I didn't already know it. I always want to talk to you."
Zayn stays still, his heart beginning to pound. "And now, too?"
Liam raises his eyebrows, a 'yes, unfortunately; what can you do?'. He looks certain.
"So if I kissed you now - " Zayn says finally.
Liam picks the textbook up from between them and sets it down carefully next to the mug on the table. "Yeah, if you kissed me now," he says agreeably, letting his hand slide up Zayn's leg, past his thigh, to his waist. "Still think I'm cute?"
"What do you think?" Zayn says. He presses a little closer.
"What do you think?" says Liam, his voice getting softer.
"I guess you're still cute," Zayn concedes, starting to smile. "And hot. And a loser, like me."
Liam grins. Zayn can't see his mouth from this close, but he knows those eye crinkles, recognises the lift to those cheeks. He's all right with trading the view, he thinks, for the proximity, for the way Liam's thumb feels against the bare skin between his T-shirt and jeans.
It feels like nothing at all when their mouths press together, but when they pull apart Zayn feels a little knocked off his centre. All he can see when he opens his eyes is Liam's eyes. All he can hear is their breathing. The weight of Liam's hand as it slides from his waist to his back, up his spine. The clean smell of their cheap off-brand detergent.
His world shrinks, even as it starts to expand.
"You're one of my favourite people," Zayn says quietly, bumping his nose against Liam's. He leans in again, a firmer kiss, held for two, three more beats; he wants to remember exactly how this feels. He got out of the habit of creating art well over a year ago, when he lost the inspiration - but here's something to paint.
Liam lifts his other hand to Zayn's face, brushing a finger against his cheek, a thumb against his lower lip.
"You're one of mine," Liam whispers back, like he's telling him a secret. "What are the chances?"
"We're buying a futon," Zayn declares, his mouth stretching over a yawn. He throws the tissues away in the kitchen and heads back to the living room.
"Let's save up," Liam suggests, patting the spot next to him on the rug. He's already got his own t-shirt back on; he tosses Zayn his. "Harry will approve."
"Sure." Zayn's already distracted again. "Are you wearing one of my tees?"
"I think so?" Liam says, reaching to tug at Zayn's. "That's one of Niall's."
"Lou stole my favourite hoodie because one of his lecture halls was too cold," Zayn says. He lies down, staying on his back so he can still see Liam where he's sitting. "Two months ago. I haven't worn it since."
"Mmm. All tied up," Liam says thoughtfully, leaning over Zayn. He traces a light line up the centre of Zayn's stomach and then knocks at Zayn's chin. He's careful, but Zayn pretends to wince. Liam only grins at him in response.
"Brett says," Zayn begins, and then stops, thinking. "Brett said he hadn't even noticed anything different, not being friends this semester. Like I was disposable, like."
"That's - " Liam's face shifts, settling into something harder. "Zayn."
"Yeah," Zayn says, giving him the truest smile he can, even though it probably looks a little small. "He's an arse. Took me a while to realise."
Liam moves around so he can lie down, too. "Friends can fuck you up," he says, like he knows from personal experience. He doesn't say anything else - Zayn will wait until Liam's ready for it - and only kisses Zayn's shoulder.
"All of you would notice if I left," Zayn says lowly. It's not just for himself - he wants Liam to know he understands, to know he's past it.
Liam's quiet as he stretches up to finish the cocoa he left on the table, probably so Harry won't trip over it first thing in the morning. Zayn tilts his head up to see if the lights in the kitchen are off so Niall won't go on about electricity wastage over dinner tomorrow. They settle together, Zayn making sure that he leaves space on his other side for Riaz, if he comes down to look.
Liam doesn't say anything at all, nothing else, and Zayn knows.
Zayn wakes up to Riaz throwing himself on his body.
"Zee, wake up," Riaz says, patting Zayn's cheek. "Zee."
Zayn lets out a loud groan, stretching. He drops his arms around Riaz, tugging him in, and then pretends to go back to sleep.
Riaz starts to wriggle. "Zain, it's ten o'clock!"
"It's Saturday!" Zayn says, pretending to cry. "I can't do this!"
"Sure you can," Riaz says patiently, still moving around. "You can do anything."
Zayn loosens his grip and starts to laugh. There's so much love in this house he's going to burst from it - it's starting to get fucking ridiculous.
"Up," Riaz says, when he realises he's got Zayn. "Brush your teeth."
"Getting up," Zayn says, sitting up reluctantly. Zayn and Liam started to sleep in Liam's room two weeks ago, when they realised they didn't need the neutral grounds of the living room anymore, and Zayn deeply loves Liam's bed.
That said, he does love it more when his boyfriend is in it with him. "Where's Li?"
"Making choco-chip pancakes," Riaz says, looking smug. "For me."
"For you," Zayn says, rolling his eyes. He makes sure to drop Riaz on the floor when he stands - he may love this boy, but he knows when he's been played.
Everyone's already at the table when he gets down the stairs.
"Morning," Zayn says.
He scans the table for a free seat. They must've left one of the chairs in the kitchen, but fuck if he's going to carry it back - he drops himself into the nearest lap. Louis yelps even as he wraps his arms around Zayn's stomach and tugs him in, lets him get comfortable.
Liam shoots him a fake wounded look from right beside him, but it doesn't last. "Morning," he says, lightly grazing Zayn's chin with his thumb and index finger. He hands over his half-drunk cup of coffee, the kindest thing you could do in the morning, the sweetest gesture of love. Zayn grins at him.
"So Paul came in this morning to remind us," Harry begins. "We have to leave at the end of the sem."
"But," Niall says, pushing a folded newspaper over. "There's a house."
Zayn pinches Louis' thigh for no reason except that he feels like it, before he reaches to pull the paper in.
"It's a wreck," Louis says. "Central heating, and the kitchen doesn't smell. The rooms are bigger, though."
It's only a text advertisement, but he's already starting to feel a little giddy as he lets himself imagine it. "Five bedrooms," Zayn reads out.
"We're obviously assuming you and Li have still got it together at this point," Niall says.
Liam wriggles his eyebrows when Zayn turns to look at him. Zayn smiles absently, a reflex to seeing Liam doing silly things, as he tries to process everything else.
"We all want it," Harry says. "I have an internship for summer nearby, and Louis' training school is fifteen minutes away."
"Uni is a bit further out, but Nialler and Harry and I can take it," Liam says.
"I liked my room," Riaz says from Zayn's other side. "They showed me a photo."
"But if you don't want it, we'll find something else," Louis says, his sentence final, like he's ending a rehearsed pitch.
They all peer at him, waiting; watching to see if he's all right, if he's in favour. This kind of waiting he knows, he's started to recognise.
They've discussed this. They hadn't included him, but they'd thought of him every step of the way. Zayn loves that he can be sure of this, that he can know.
A house with his friends, and his boyfriend, and a little brother, all of whom love him.
"I don't know..." Zayn starts. He picks up the newspaper, pretending to look thoughtful - marred by the way he's already starting to grin.
Liam lets out a whoop as he catches his smile and drags him off of Louis, standing so he can throw an arm around his waist. He kisses Zayn on the temple, and then his cheek. Zayn leans into his touch - not because he needs it, but because it's what he's used to doing now, whenever his boys do this.
All of his boys, god-awful at staying out of his hair. Thank goodness.