As He Moves

Chapter 1

A year and a half ago, when Zayn was first starting university and learning to live on his own (and also learning to hate dorm rooms and shared houses with small, single bedrooms that he was never allowed to smoke in, according to the landlords) he'd been apprehensive when his friend Harry had mentioned that his friend Liam was looking for a roommate. To be completely honest, Zayn doesn't really share his space well, and he never has. Living with three other siblings made him a bit territorial when it comes to his things, and he never grew out of that habit.

Now, he honestly can't believe there was a time he was uncertain about this. Liam is his saving grace. The light of his life. He is warmth on a cold winter night, or whatever other bullshit metaphors there are. Liam is all of those things.

When Zayn walks in the door after a particularly gruesome day of classes that didn't end until exactly twenty minutes ago at six-thirty at night, and started somewhere around nine, to the smell of food cooking and the apartment spotless, he wants to cry a little. Whatever Liam's making smells fantastic, there's soft music playing, and as soon as he kicks off his shoes he can see Liam moving around the kitchen a little frantically while somehow still singing along on tune and everything.

"Smells good," Zayn comments, passing the kitchen to toss his bag carelessly onto his bed from the door of his room. It's not like the room is all that big. There's just enough space for his bed, a small table, and the wardrobe for his clothes. Nothing else.

Liam gives him a grin over his shoulder, still at the stove, stirring around things in a pot. "You sit," he orders. "I didn't have classes today and you look exhausted. Plus, you have work in two hours. You're not allowed to move until you've relaxed for at least a minute."

Zayn groans, falling onto the sofa. Liam's right, but he wishes he hadn't been reminded. He doesn't want to go to work today. He wants to curl up on the sofa and never move again. He wants to burn all the books in his bag because, really, what was he thinking, studying literature? He's taken the one single thing in the entire world that he loves and twisted it into a stress inducing nightmare.

"Yeah," he mumbles to himself and to Liam, eyes already closing. "That sounds like a good idea."

He must doze off because the next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Liam's handing him a plate of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken (one of the only things Liam can make without burning or poisoning it) that looks as good as it smells. Zayn takes it from him and Liam seats himself on the other side of the sofa, already forking up a bite, eating a little sloppily like he always does.

"You missed Deadliest Warrior," Liam informs him. "They did vampires versus zombies. I recorded it for you."

"Did you watch it?" It's the one show they can agree on. The only issue they've had, living together, is that Liam prefers sports and reality shows, and Zayn prefers, well, trashy dramas and anything with historical significance.

"Nah," Liam says. He swallows his food and reaches for the remote. "Figured I'd wait for you."

It's not like it means anything; it's just one of those selfless acts of kindness that Liam performs every single damn day, but Zayn can't help but feel like it does mean something. Because it means something to him, at least, that Liam could have watched it all day but instead he waited for Zayn because he knew Zayn would want to watch it with him instead of by himself.

By the time he's done eating, though, Zayn can hardly keep his eyes open enough to focus. They're heavy and every time he blinks they get harder to reopen, and he sets his plate on the table, unable to find a good reason to even bother trying. He can call in sick to work, get someone to cover his shift. Or he could just not go, lose his job, lose them their apartment and – okay, fuck, he's opening his eyes.

"Turn around," Liam orders.

Zayn rubs at his eyes and does as he's told, turning until his back is facing Liam. There's a beat where nothing happens and then Liam's hands are kneading at his shoulders, rubbing down his back, pressing into his hips. Zayn groans, tipping his head back, and he's in love. He's so fucking in love with Liam that it's ridiculous, but what can he do? The guy is an angel. He's fucking flawless, and Zayn is powerless against that. Fuck, he'd be more surprised if he wasn't in love with Liam, because on top of that he's also, like, incredibly fucking fit, too.

"You're tense," Liam comments. He digs the heels of his palms in a little too hard, but as soon as he stops there's this sudden relief and an incredible feeling of calm spreading through Zayn's whole body. "Better?"

"Loads," Zayn sighs. "You're amazing."

Liam laughs. "Uh, no. I just have enough experience with this." Which is true, since it's not the first time this has happened. In fact, it happens a lot, actually, the massages and Liam making dinner for him on his more stressful nights, and again Zayn tries not to look into it, tries to remember that Liam had a girlfriend until exactly a month and a half ago, a serious girlfriend that he's probably still getting over, and Zayn's supposed to be his friend, not some asshole who prays on him after that and—

"Stop thinking," Liam orders. "Just relax. If you fall asleep, I'll wake you in an hour and a half so you won't be late for work."

Zayn can't help it; he leans back against Liam, shutting his eyes, and Liam hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist and leaning back against the sofa, pulling them both down so Zayn's cushioned on his chest. He keeps his eyes closed, inhales the smell of Liam and laundry and cologne, and he falls asleep just like that, no doubt snoring and drooling and making an ass of himself.

When he wakes up Liam is pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and hurrying around the apartment. Zayn sits up slowly, checking the time on the stove. It's only nine and he has half an hour before he has to get to the grocery store for the last shift of the night, but he doesn't seem to be the only one needing to head out.

"What's up?" he asks, stretching and popping his back.

Liam jerks to a sudden stop, and he vaguely says, "Work. Got called in. Someone else cancelled."

"Oh."

Zayn isn't a sharer and he never has been. He's pretty personal when it comes to most things in his life, but that doesn't extend to Liam at all and it hasn't since the second week they moved in together and he came home to find Liam on the sofa watching Batman Begins. Liam knows practically everything about him, from his major in school to the names of all his sisters.

He knows nearly everything about Liam, too, except where he works. Liam never tells him, and Zayn never outright asks because he feels that, if Liam wanted him to know, he would have told Zayn. But he didn't.

"Don't wait up for me," Liam says, pulling on a button up. He pauses in the bathroom, door open, and fixes his hair a bit before smiling winningly at his reflection.

Zayn doesn't anymore, but one time he did and Liam didn't come home until nearly three in the morning, just before Zayn was about to text him to make sure he was okay. "I won't," he says.

By the time Liam leaves, Zayn is pulling on the ugly green vest he has to wear for work and adjusting his nametag before he finds his keys and leaves, locking the door securely behind him. And because work after a grueling day of classes isn't enough, it rains on his walk there and his hair is fucked through his whole shift; the girl he's working with tonight, Diana, takes twenty minutes longer than her allotted break, which means that he doesn't get to have a cigarette between his shifts like he normally does; on top of all that, when he finally gets to go home in two and a half hours, he still has to read over a chapter of a novel for his class the next morning.

Zayn fucking hates Wednesdays.

o|o