Chapter Eight

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Partying always seems like a good idea at the time, but rarely can he ever say that it was worth the way he feels the morning after. The first thing he does is stumble out of his bed, clutching every piece of furniture he passes on his way to keep himself upright, and head straight for his bathroom. He'd had enough to drink last night it's all coming up the second he gets to the toilet, but for some reason that wasn't enough to erase his memories.

He reaches for sink and turns it on, cupping his hands to fill them with water. He rinses out his mouth, then grabs his toothbrush. When he's done, he takes one look in the mirror before turning around abruptly. He looks like hell. He's pale, lips starkly pink against his skin, and his eyes look sunken into his face.

He rubs at his temples, trying not to replay last night in his head, but he can't help it. The drinking, dancing, the fight, Liam stepping in. The car ride afterwards, when he started acting like a fucking idiot. God, Liam was right. That was his job. Zayn shouldn't have been acting like - like a boyfriend who just watched his partner get into a fight and kept worrying about whether or not he was okay. Because Liam's job is to make sure Zayn's okay, and there is no vice versa in this situation. And it's going to happen plenty of times in the future, he knows. He's going to get used to watching Liam walk straight into the line of fire with the pretence of keeping Zayn out of it.

The word spandex bumps around in Zayn's mind, and he considers throwing up again.

All he can do is pray that everyone chalks that whole thing up to the alcohol. That's what he's gonna do, because he has no idea why the fuck he acted like that. Really. He doesn't. It's unfathomable in his mind and his head hurts to much to try to fathom it.

When he gets back to his room, he grabs his cellphone out of his jeans, which he'd apparently thrown on the floor in abandon last night. He's got twelve new messages. Two are from Harry, one from each of the other lads, a few from people he doesn't regularly talk to. (Or, who he doesn't regularly reply to, but they talk to him often.) And finally one message from Liam.

It takes him a long moment, spent with his lip worrying between his teeth, to open it. When he does, he isn't sure what to think or feel.

Hope your feeling ok after last nite : )

What the fuck is that supposed to even mean? If it were Louis, the answer would be clear: definite sarcasm and teasing. If it were Harry or Josh, it'd be genuine. If it were Niall it'd be 'lol happy hangover'. But it's Liam and Zayn doesn't know him enough to decipher it. He really could just be politely wishing that Zayn isn't feeling as horrible as he is. Or he could be concerned about the fact that Zayn could be sick. Or he could be making fun of Zayn for everything that happened last night.

Shaking his head, Zayn tosses his phone onto his bed and bends down underneath it. He pulls out the box hidden there, much more careful with it than he had been with his phone as he places it on the bed. When he pops the lid off, he stares at the contents for a moment.

The box itself is old and worn. That's what happens when you keep something for years and years, constantly using it and moving it. In fact, the lid barely fits on it anymore. The sides are warped and it takes effort to get it back on every time. And he could replace it, if he wanted. The box itself isn't really significant. It used to hold a pair of shoes that his mum bought him when he was thirteen, but even the logo has worn off by now.

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