Not Happening

Chapter 12

Zayn leaves for home a little earlier than he'd planned. Technically all his exams are done, but he was planning on leaving Friday, since that was the day Louis and Harry were both heading home. But when he wakes up Tuesday morning, not exactly early but not late, since they don't have to be in the art room for another few hours, to find paint still caked under his nails, he can't breathe.

And when Liam gets up a little later, after Zayn's showered and dressed for the day, and he says, "Hey, do you think I could talk to you tonight? After the auction?" Zayn feels like he's being suffocated. Like Liam's wrapped those hands of his, with the long, thick fingers, tightly around Zayn's throat.

"Talk about what?" Zayn asks, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Liam shrugs. "Just something. I'll get your number off Niall and text you."

Zayn goes to protest, but there's really no reason to, is there? Not one, aside from the heavy weight on Zayn's chest. "Okay."

Liam nods and Zayn grabs his iPod and turns it up so he can pretend to ignore Liam until they have to be in the art room to set up their stuff. But Zayn's never been very good at ignoring Liam, and now is no exception. Especially when he gets out of bed, completely naked. There's still a bit of paint on certain parts of his skin, little swatches, reminders of what happened. He heads for his dresser, and Zayn bites his lip, pointedly not looking at his ass except- okay, he does. Fuck.

Slowly, Liam pulls on his boxers. He does it deliberately, tugging them up his legs with a little twist of those hips. Zayn's eyes narrow, his head cocking to the side, and Liam reaches for a pair of jeans, does the same thing, buttoning them painstakingly slow. He forgoes the shirt, heading back for his bed once he's done. He falls onto it, grabbing his phone from on top of the desk, and then he lies there like that, propped up on his side, looking fucking ridiculous.

Ridiculously attractive, but Zayn doesn't want to think about that. So he gets out of bed, leaving his headphones on, and leaves the room.

Louis and Harry are still asleep when Zayn gets to their room. Louis answers the door in one of Harry's shirts (he thinks, but the two of them share so often it's nearly impossible to tell) and a pair of boxers, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "What?" he sighs. "What do you want? It's too early for me to like you right now. Come back later."

Zayn pushes into the room anyway. Harry is half awake in bed, rubbing at his eyes like Louis had. Only he tries to smile weakly at Harry, which Louis hadn't bothered, and he also doesn't kick Zayn out. So Zayn crawls into bed beside him, getting right under the blankets and everything.

Harry's bed smells like him; like that cologne he wears every day, but also distinctly like cinnamon rolls (weird, but delicious). Zayn tucks his head against Harry's chest and breathes it in while Harry rubs at his back, not even asking what he's doing, which is why Zayn had come here for him, not Louis. Louis would ask; Harry just comforts automatically and lets him work it out on his own.

"I shouldn't have slept with my roommate," Zayn groans against him.

"You definitely shouldn't have," Harry agrees.

"I think I like him." Zayn pulls back, looking up at Harry with pleading eyes, begging Harry to tell him that's not true; Zayn can't like Liam. Nope. Impossible. Incomprehensible.

But Harry only nods sympathetically. "We know."

"How did this happen?" Zayn wonders. "How did I let this happen?"

"I don't think you had much say in it," Louis says from the other bed. "He's kind of great, when you get to know him, Zayn. And he's fucking gorgeous. Like, straight out of GQ material."