As He Moves

Chapter 7

"We've got, like, ten minutes to get there, Liam!" Zayn shouts through the bathroom door.

Liam, still in the shower, groans at him and says, "Why's it that you're always late and I never complain, but the one time I forgot and you won't even let me take a shower?"

Zayn laughs, stepping away from the door. "Take your time," he calls. "I'll send Harry a text, let him know we'll be late."

"No, it's fine," Liam yells back.

There's only a beat between the time of the shower turning off and the bathroom door suddenly opening. A wall of steam hits Zayn like a brick, dampening his skin and making it harder to breath, but it's Liam that knocks the air out of his lungs, that makes him stumble back and an embarrassing sound tumble from his lips.

He steps out of the bathroom in just a towel that hangs loosely on his hips, and Zayn didn't think to back up enough when the door opened. This close up, he could practically count the chest hair, honestly, and Liam's smiling pleasantly at him as if he has no idea what the fuck he's doing to Zayn right now.

Probably because he doesn't.

"I just need to get dressed," Liam says, ducking past to head to his room. He brushes accidentally against Zayn's side, and Zayn sort of just stands there, dumbstruck. "You're all ready to go, right?"

"Yeah, I— yeah." Zayn nods dumbly, moving away from the bathroom door. He shakes his head, and the fog seems to clear. "I've been ready for, like, twenty minutes, man. Hurry it up, Liam."

Liam laughs as he shuts his bedroom door between them. "Don't rush me," he calls through it. "I'll remember this next time you're late because you can't figure out what you want to wear, and I'll drag you out in just your boxers."

For some reason Zayn can't see himself protesting that all that much.

Liam comes out of the room a moment later, button-up shirt unbuttoned. And was that necessary? Was it really? His fingers are deftly doing the shirt up, but his chest is still bared and his head is tilted down, giving Zayn a clear opportunity to ogle him without getting caught.

He jerkily looks away, forcing himself to think about something else, anything else, until Liam says, "Okay, ready. How's this look?"

Zayn shrugs. "It's a plaid shirt," he says vaguely. "You own about a hundred. It looks fine."

Liam frowns at him for a moment before asking, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Zayn says. "I just want to get this over with."

"Are you ever going to stop complaining and admit that you like the bar?"

"No."

Liam shakes his head fondly, hand brushing Zayn's for a moment before he heads for the door, leaving Zayn a beat behind him, too stunned to move at first.

They walk to the bar, like they always do every Friday and have for the past year, minus that single time where Liam was out with his girlfriend, Harry had the flu, and Niall was back home visiting family. It's a tradition of sorts, one that they don't really talk about but that they've all sort of accepted and worked into their schedules automatically, no matter what.

And just like always, when they walk in the door Harry and Niall are already at their booth, always earlier because usually Zayn makes them late by tossing half the contents of his closet all over his bedroom floor before stealing one of Liam's shirts and letting Liam drag him out of the apartment.

"We should start making you pick out your outfit the night before," Harry comments as he slides into the booth on his right.

Zayn makes a face at him, stealing the lemon hooked onto the edge of Harry's glass to throw it at him. "Blame Liam," he says. "He's the reason we're late tonight."