Wrong Side of Love (Ziam bodyswap)

Chapter 4

When Liam wakes up, it feels like he'd barely slept. And there's this heaviness, this aching in his head, the way he always feels when he'd spent the whole night crying. But he hadn't shed a single tear last night, though he almost had out of frustration.

Immediately everything from last night comes back to him, and he angrily kicks off the blankets, feeling annoyed already.

"Go back to bed."

Liam jumps at Harry's voice, eyes wide. He turns, finding Harry half asleep next to him.

When had he gotten here? Liam didn't let him in last night. In fact, Liam hadn't talked to Harry after they left the bowling alley. Not that something like this is uncommon. They all crawl into each other's beds sometimes, when they're missing home or drunk. But Harry tends to go to Zayn or Louis or Niall, most of the time. Liam's more likely to wake up to Louis or Zayn in his bed.

Frowning, Liam wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Tryin' sleep," Harry mumbles. "Please be quiet."

Liam snorts fondly. He's polite, Harry, even when he's half-unconscious. Liam shakes his head again and gets out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He has to pee bad, and he needs something for his head. Maybe fighting with Zayn has given him a headache. Wouldn't be the first time.

Something's a little off about his room, but Liam's too tired to think of what it is. It almost looks like a different room, actually. The windows are on the opposite side, and the bathroom was definitely against the left wall, he thought, but now it's against the right.

He's losing it, apparently. Or maybe he's still half asleep like Harry, he reasons. Whatever it is, he figures a shower will help.

Liam rubs at his eyes as he passes the mirror, going straight for the toilet, but he pauses, eyebrows furrowing, and backtracks. And then he kind of just gapes at himself in the mirror. Only it's not — it's not his mouth that falls open in the reflection. It's not his eyes that are wide and fucking shocked. It's not his reflection.

Liam's looked at Zayn a lot in his life (it's hard not to) and he knows what Zayn looks like, whether he's done up, hair styled and wearing a perfectly pressed suit and clean shaven, or scruffy with messy hair and dirty sweats. There is no mistaking what he's seeing in the mirror, and it's Zayn.

Cautiously, Liam lifts a hand. Zayn in the mirror lifts his hand. Liam presses it to the glass, and the reflection mirrors the action. Liam licks his lips; Zayn in the mirror licks his lips. Liam pinches himself and winces; so does Zayn in the mirror.

What the hell is happening?

Liam looks down. He'd gone to sleep in his black boxers. Now, his skinny, hairy thighs are wrapped in white briefs. And there's that wolf tattoo of Zayn's on his calf and— his arms are decorated in Zayn's tattoos, too. His own arrows and feather are gone, replace with ZAP and Zayn's bandana and, fuck, there's the Perrie tattoo, clear as day on his bicep.

Swallowing, Liam pulls the collar of the tank top he's wearing (he'd went to sleep shirtless) away, peering down at his chest. Lips and wings. Holy shit.

Liam turns, fumbling with the bathroom door as he pulls it open. He stumbles into the room, and he realizes now why it looks odd. It's not his room. It's completely different, on the opposite side of the building so everything's reversed. And that explains Harry in his bed. Zayn would have roped Harry into staying with him after their fight last night (that's what they do, trying to make the others pick sides, and Harry tends to take Zayn's).

"Harry," Liam hisses but — it's Zayn's voice. He reaches for Harry's shoulders, shaking them violently. "Get up!"

Harry rolls over, eyes blinking open slowly. "What's wrong?" he asks. "'m tired, Zayn. Stop."

"Who am I?" Liam demands.

"Excuse me?" Harry sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Who am I?" Liam repeats, a little shrilly. "Who am I, Harry?"

"Is this some kinky thing where I'm s'posed to call you daddy?" Harry wonders. "Because it's too early for that."

"Harry," Liam snaps. "This is serious. Who am I?"

"Zayn," Harry states. "You're Zayn. And you're acting crazy, just so you know."

Liam shakes his head, clutching at his throat for some reason. He can't breathe; he's panicking. What's happening here? Is this some kind of nightmare? Or maybe, like, someone broke into his room while he was passed out and drugged him or something. That's got to be it. This is insane.

"I'm— I'm not Zayn," Liam says. "I'm not Zayn. I'm Liam."

Harry lazily blinks at him, yawning without covering his mouth. "You're what?"

"Oh my God," Liam says, falling onto the bed. "This is really happening."

"What's really happening?" Harry demands. He sounds a little concerned now, as he sits all the way up, peering closely at Liam. "Are you drunk? Did you sneak out while I was asleep and get trashed?"

Liam shakes his head, trying to calm his panting breaths. "I went to sleep," Liam says, "and I woke up in Zayn's body, Harry. What the fuck is happening?"

"Is this a prank?" Harry asks, no longer concerned. He's starting to look annoyed, like Liam's being difficult. "You and Louis need to be stopped. This is weird, even for you. What do you mean you woke up in Zayn's body? You are Zayn."

"No, I'm not," Liam insists. "Harry, it's —" Liam frowns, trying to think of a way to prove this because he needs Harry to panic with him, to explain what the hell is happening here. "When we were on the X Factor," Liam says, "you asked me in private to give you some vocal training because you were insecure about your solo. You told me not to tell anyone, and I never did."

Harry's lips part in surprise, and Liam thinks he's convinced him until Harry says, "I can't believe Liam told you that! That was private!"

"No one had to tell me because I was there," Liam groans. "Harry. I swear I'm Liam." He reaches up to tug a hand through his hair, but it feels different. Of course it does. "I— I took care of you when you had the flu last fall. You cried while watching Titanic on my sofa. You and I went skating that one time just after the X Factor and you fell on your ass and had a giant bruise that you insisted on showing me, like, four times."

"I showed that bruise to everyone," Harry points out.

"I'm Liam!" Liam shouts, frustrated. "I'm not Zayn."

Harry lifts his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, you're Liam."

Liam sighs. "You don't believe me."

"I think," Harry says carefully, "that maybe all that crying you did last night made has made you really tired."

"I — Zayn cried last night?" Liam blurts. "Why?"

Harry frowns at him. "Because of your fight with Liam," he says, slow and punctuated. "Because you hate fighting with him, and you regretted what you said but you're too stubborn to apologize for it. Which is still dumb, by the way."

"He said that?" Liam's pulse seems to race even more. "He said he regretted it?"

"You said that you regretted it," Harry says. "Zayn, are you sure you're okay? Should I call someone?"

"No," Liam snaps, realizing there's no use. Harry's not going to believe him, and Liam can't really blame him for it. "I'm going to find Zayn. I'll... I'll figure this out."

"Zayn," Harry calls after him. "Don't—"

Liam shuts the hotel room door behind him, hurrying down the hall. Harry comes out after him, but Liam doesn't turn around. He tries the handle on the door to his own room, but it's locked, so he slams his hands on the door repeatedly.

*