Archive of Our Own

When Liam first opens his eyes the world is cold, dark, damp along the edges, and tinged with fear. There's no breeze, no tangible air, just a flash of sense telling him that his body feels frosted over. For a moment he nearly chokes, breathing deeply to try and pull the non-existent air into his lungs. Nothing enters beyond a sharp, medicinal scent, stirring some sort of recognition in him.

He blinks rapidly, eyelashes slapping his cheekbones in how wide he opens his eyes, but his vision stays black. He's trapped.

"Whoa," it's a man's voice - Zayn, Liam thinks vaguely - soft and caring, "Easy, Liam, easy."

It's concerning, he notes vaguely, that he can't seem to remember anything. Feels like a newborn baby, choking on the lack of oxygen, but unable to get his limbs working enough to thrash in panic.

Then the voice turns away from him, speaking to another, or at least Liam presumes so since he has no sight, "Can we fix that?"

A deeper voice, "Course. Give us a few more minutes with him."

Skin touches his forehead, warm and damp with sweat as he runs a hand over Liam's forehead. A kiss. Hot breath at his right ear, "Hear that Li? Just a few more minutes, sweetheart and you'll be as good as new."

Liam wants to speak, but he's not sure if his vocal chords still work. But before he can attempt anything, there's a sharp pricking at his forearm, and his eyelids get heavy, darkness engulfing all his senses.

—



Liam wakes in a bed.

A great many pillows cushion his head, arms, and torso, as if he were a fragile doll made of the most delicate china or glass. His body feels heavy, sluggish, and tired. He doesn't think he knows where he is, although he feels like he should.

He can see this time as well; can see the way that the room is bright, airy, white and minimalistic. White sheets and duvet, to match the spotless carpet and walls that look almost like a blanket of snow. He thinks that if he touched any of it, it'd melt in his very hands, doesn't understand how it remains as is under the heat of the dark wood trimmings.

The sharp contrast hurts his head, pounding away at his temples like a jackhammer.

Liam groans softly, trying to sit up, but his legs feel clumsy, sliding on the clean sheets. He hurts everywhere, from the base of his teeth to his nail beds, a dull ache that resounds in his chest like heartbreak.  And, now that he thinks about it, his mouth feels cottony, his eyelids swollen under his fingertips, like he'd just cried and cried and cried.

By the time he manages to prop himself up against the headboard, the door knob turns slowly and Zayn enters the pristine room, padding along the carpets, looking soft and welcoming.

"Zayn," Liam's suddenly desperate to see him, body lurching violently, but subconsciously, towards him. Zayn startles at his reaction, dark eyes going impossibly wide and God, Liam thinks, Zayn is so lovely. "Zayn."

"Love," Zayn slides onto the bed on all fours, stretching like a cat, straddling Liam in a way that's careful and delicate. His purple T-shirt pools over Liam's torso, necklaces hanging down against its inside from where they're tucked into the collar. He nudges into Liam's space, tracing his fingertips down his neck delicately and kissing up the shell of Liam's sensitive ear. "Feeling alright, love?"

"Zayn."

Zayn hushes him under his breath and curls around him like a koala, "Shh, Liam. 'm here, yeah. I'm here."

"I missed you." The words are coming out of a deep place in Liam's psyche, tumbling over his lips uncontrollably even though his hazy mind is unable to decipher what's actually happening, "Every day. I missed you, always."

Zayn's eyelashes are damp when he pushes his face into Liam's neck, "Me too, Liam. Me too, sweetheart. But I'm here now, love. I'll never leave again. I love you so much."

Liam manages to move his arms enough to drape them weakly along Zayn's back, "Promise me," he slurs, exhaustion settling into his bones, eyes closing involuntarily, "Promise me you'll stay with me."

"Always," Zayn repeats, "I promise you, Liam. I love you."

The panic ebbs a little, his body relaxing back into the comfortable bed. He drifts off with Zayn's voice in his ear, his scent in his nose, and his body on his. It's soothing and familiar.

_______

"Hey, babe."

Liam startles, nearly slipping backwards off of his porch steps. He's taken to spending the summers outside since the house is unbearably stuffy at this time of year. The new electricity cuts are starting to look less like cuts and more like prolonged bans. The Higher have broadcasted to every radio station that Liam's been listening to for the past month, insisting that the strict regulation is necessary. That each household must do their part to continue their society and regenerate their failing planet.

He shivers then, despite the cold. "Hi Zayn."Liam keeps his eyes firmly planted on his feet though, can't bear to look up at Zayn's eyes. At the rejection that's probably hidden there, a left over from when Liam served up his heart in his open palms, only for it not to be accepted.

"You look good,"Zayn teases. Liam flushes further. He's been lazing around in the sun all day out on the front porch, enjoying his last few days of freedom. Next fall he'll be at the airplane factory with his father, assembling spacecrafts and interstellar transport vehicles for the Higher like everybody else in his zoned neighborhood. Zayn lives right outside of it though, in the lofty Artesian Sector that Liam knows that a lot of people deep down envy.

It must be nice, he thinks, to go home to three square meals a day and running water and electricity twenty hours a day. Especially since Zayn's work isn't labor intensive and he's not up at the ass-crack of dawn six days a week barely making ends meet.

"Thanks."

Liam's actually not too sure why Zayn's decided to make an appearance here, assumed that he would want to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He peeks up quickly, shocking into realizing that Zayn's much closer than he'd assumed, a mere half a foot from the bottom of the porch stairs. His stance his easy, lanky body curled effortlessly, and a delicate hand shielding the blazing sun.

"You do too,"Liam swallows, except his comment isn't a joke. Zayn really does look good in his simple jeans and tank - he always does. Zayn would look good in an factory worker's uniform, as lowly as they make someone seem.

Zayn laughs, though Liam's not too sure why. His tone is warm, almost too comfortable for the awkwardness thrumming through Liam's veins.

"I missed you, sweetheart."

Liam jolts, eyes going wide. The words make no sense to him, but Zayn doesn't seem to think anything of them as he slides up to press a kiss to Liam's parted mouth, curling a heavily tattooed around his neck to press him closer.

Liam's eyes simply grow wider, heart booming in his chest.

_______

"Do you live here?"

Zayn's chopping onions in the kitchen, reaching up to thumb away tears every so often. Liam hopes against hope that he's not actually crying and that it's a reflex reaction. His hand pauses on the down stroke, "Yes. I live here." He frowns, "Do you not remember, Li?"

Liam pushes out of the dining room table chair to stand behind him. He tosses his arms around Zayn's waist and leans into his back, "No," he admits, voice muffled into Zayn's t-shirt, "I don't."

"Oh," Zayn sounds sad, lovely voice lilting away at the end of his somber syllable, "Yes. I do live here. I live here with you."

"Where're my things then?" Liam asks, confused. He looks down at his white pajama pants, "This isn't everything I own, is it?"

"Things," Zayn repeats slowly, like he's turning over the idea in his mind, "You want your things." He nods to himself, "I'll get you you're things, don't worry. They're just not here yet."

Liam frowns, "Can I come with you? Maybe I'll remember then?"

"No," Zayn's voice is very, very sharp, "You stay here Liam. You stay in the house. Don't leave this house, yeah. Not until I tell you otherwise."

"Okay," Liam flinches. Zayn never speaks to him like that, or at least he doesn't think he does.

Zayn turns then and collects all of him into his arms, "Only for now, love. Only for now. Soon you can go wherever you want, alright. Very, very soon."

_______

This is Liam, Zayn introduces him once, my mate. He showed up at my house one day with his sisters and started talking to me out of the blue. He laughs loudly as the boys around them snort like Zayn had just made the best joke they'd ever heard, It was weird as fuck, man.

Liam bites his lip, swallows down the hurt.

_______

The house is so cold.

The windows are pitch black, so dark that Liam can't even see vague shapes out of them. No sunlight enters any of the three bedrooms, kitchen, living room, or either of the bathrooms. Instead bright ceiling lamps that Liam finds hurts his eyes if he looks into them directly wash everything in bright white and yellows.

The entire set up is alien, foreign.

Liam finds himself to be more lethargic that he thinks he used to be. His skin itches for him to move, to do something other than watch Zayn potter around in the kitchen. Liam won't say it, but the amount of time Zayn spends in there really isn't worth the burned mess of a meal they end up having.

On top of everything, he can't shake the feeling of utter, devastating sadness that permeates his entire being. Zayn's eyes are sorrowful when he curls around Liam sometimes, clutching him close and breathing into his hair. Liam learns that in order to sleep he needs to wait until Zayn's safely tucked into unconsciousness and then match his slow, deep breathing.

His things start to appear, one by one. The television that adorns the living room is vaguely familiar though a little too shiny and fancy, as are the soaps in the shower, the cutlery. They ease Liam's nerves a little; make him feel more comfortable in this alien house that he's shut up in.

(Not shut up in Liam. It's just - complicated, babe.)

But things that he doesn't remember begin to appear as well.  One morning he wakes up, and the first thing he sees is an old Polaroid camera set atop a single picture. The picture is of him and Zayn in bed, Liam smiling into Zayn's shoulder while Zayn's eyes are shut tight, mouth open in an 'o', arms outstretched to where he's probably holding the camera.

They look so happy, so in love.

Liam doesn't remember ever being that happy.

_______

When Liam first meets Zayn, it's in a fast food place. Zayn's picking up fries because, as he tells Liam later, he can't eat the meat the place cooks for religious reasons. Liam startled a little because of that, can't remember the last time he'd met someone that was still religious in any way. It's been sort of a taboo thing, the Higher believing that the idea of mystical beings was preposterous propaganda, but Liam understands the subliminal messages, or threat he should say, very clearly: That is our place in your society, there's no room for any other moral dictators.

He stands in front of Liam in line, sliding his identification chip through the slot as proof of visit. They're required to document their outings now, in case the Terra Council wanted any proof of visits, though it was mostly used for medical records. His hair is a dark black, skin a nice smooth tan that makes Liam think of the hot summer days and sunny beachfronts from eons ago. The oceans are too polluted too swim in now, too much war debris. Some claim they even see the occasional body finally free itself from the ship and float up hauntingly to the surface. Either way, his mother never allows him or his sisters that far from home anymore.

He turns around, tray in hand, and shoots Liam a lovely smile. "It's crowded, " he says, "you wanna sit with me?"

Liam's mouth feels like sandpaper, and he nods jerkily, fumbling with his own identification chip before leaning over to collect his burger. They fold together beautifully under cheap florescent lighting and Zayn smiles all warm, shy and pink at the corners, making Liam feel like he can do just about anything.

"You're Liam right?" he asks, "live two houses down from me? I'm just outside the Sector border? " He must notice Liam's confused gaze because he laughs, "'s cool. I don't really get out much and my family only moved in a few months ago. Doniya? I'm Doniya's little brother - Zayn. Zayn Malik."

Liam nods then because he knows Doniya. She's the girl that sometimes drives his sisters to the mall where Nicola goes shopping and Ruth meets up with her boyfriend. He just didn't know Doniya had a little brother. He hesitates, "Relocation?" It's a touchy subject, he knows, but the question is unstoppable.

Zayn grimaces immediately, mouth all pouty and soft. Liam feels a surge of desire. "Yeah," he mumbles, "I'm uh - Muslim. That's why. Baba was always very religious. Mum's converted." He lowers his voice, "War reasons too," he admits.

Liam looks around sharply, but all he can hear is the scrape of plastic utensils. His shoulders loosen in acute relief, but he can't help but tug nervously at his collar, "Oh," he says intelligently.

Zayn sends him a wry smile, "Religion's controversial. I know that. But it just - feels right you know. 'sides it's just a belief."

Liam blinks, "Why're you telling me this?"

"Though you were supposed to be honest on dates. Least that's what Ruthie said you liked."

Liam hadn't considered that possibility before. The idea that maybe his sisters had met this intriguing boy before and brought up Liam in his presence. He wonders how either of them resisted his honest eyes and literal tongue in teeth smile. "It is," he replies, hopelessly lost, "But I um - "

Zayn leans back, clearly uncomfortable, reading Liam's hesitance completely wrong, "I can go if you'd - "

"No! No," Liam interrupts and that catches the two of them some looks, so he lowers his voice before continuing, "You should stay. I mean - like."

"Yeah?" Zayn laughs.

"Yeah."

_______

Something terrible has happened.

Of the little that Liam knows, living in this stark, chilly house, is that something truly awful has occurred, has made Zayn paranoid of his every move towards the front door, even if it's just to walk past it to use the restroom down the hall.

Sometimes, deep at night, in a hazy place, there are flashes.

Of scorching metal, crushed bones, and pools of blood. Nothing's distinct though, no faces, no locations he can pin point. Not even the source or cause of what he presumes is an accident. All there is the choking heat of the wind, the imagined force of an impact, and screaming that Liam unconsciously thinks belongs to him.

He ends up bringing it up to Zayn over a meal of cornflakes and pizza.

"Am I dead?"

Liam winces at the way Zayn turns to look at him sharply, spoon clattering out of his hand and onto the table. "What?"

Liam stumbles, "I was just - thinking. Like something happened, right? Something really bad? Is it why I can't remember anything?"

Zayn opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled sound from low in his throat. His lips purse tight, head cocking to the side in order to take in Liam the way he does when he's getting ready to launch into a long-winded explanation.

"Don't," Liam warns him quickly, "Please don't lie to me."

Zayn sighs heavily, clearly exhausted and strained, "You're not dead, I promise. I swear it, Liam." He pauses, taking the time to pick up his fallen spoon, "God, babe, why would you even think that?"

Liam shrugs, and collects his bowl to drop in the sink. This way he doesn't have to look directly into Zayn's piercing stare, "So this set up doesn't feel odd to you? Nothing weird at all?"

There's silence behind him, but Liam can feel a gaze burning into his back as he carefully washes out his bowl and dries his hands on a napkin.

"What set up?" he hears finally, "This is my house. I live here - you live here - and we've lived here ever since we made that decision. I'm not sure what you're talking about at the moment if I can be completely honest." He sounds defensive, the first sign of a fight.

"Never mind," Liam says, exhausted. "Forget it." He turns to walk around the dining hall table, maybe make his way back to bed and collapse for a few good, long hours. But then Zayn's standing up to meet him half way, eyes pressing and body language clearly reading needy.

"Liam, please." He says, "I'm sorry. It's just - it's hard yeah." He traces the shape of Liam's eyebrow with his thumb, and tips his head back to press a kiss to his cheekbone. "I'll tell you everything soon, babe. Really soon."

Liam closes his eyes, resigned, "Okay."

_______

"Hi," Liam waves nervously, internally face-palming at his own toxic nervousness. He'd tagged along with his sisters, who were both going out with Doniya, in an effort to see Zayn again after their wonderful, but admittedly brief, last encounter.

Doniya and Zayn are leaned back on the porch, calmly watching two younger, dark haired girls shoot each other with water pistols. Surprisingly it's Doniya that looks up first to acknowledge his presence. She smiles at him, "Hello. You much be the little brother, right? Heard a lot about you from Ruth and Nic."

Liam stretches out his hand, "Yeah that'd be me."

Doniya has a firm grip and she looks directly in his eyes as they shake hands. Her eyes glint hazel and gold, exactly like Zayn's, Liam thinks a little hysterically, and he needs to take a moment to calm himself.

Doniya easily gets pulled into a light conversation with his sisters but Zayn's still stone silent, twisting his hands uncomfortably in his lap.

Liam clears his throat, feeling stupid, "Hi Zayn."

Zayn looks up fleetingly, eyes moving everywhere but Liam, panic as clear as day, "Er - hello."

Liam swallows tightly because this wasn't exactly what he was expecting or hoping for after their first meeting. It's horribly disappointing and his stomach clenches in confusion at the awkwardness, "It's nice to see you again."

The silence is a bit too long, all background chitter chatter quieting, and Liam senses that the girls are listening in to his failure of an effort.

Zayn shakes his head, almost in defeat, "I'm sorry but I don't know you? Have we met before?"

Liam blinks, "At the - the - McDonald's? We um - had lunch together."

Zayn squints up at him, using one hand to block out the blazing sun, but there's still nothing in his eyes beyond the blankness, " 'm sorry, mate. Never seen you before in my life."

Doniya intervenes then, her sudden movement making the both of them jump, voice smooth and calm, "Zayn, meet Liam - Nicola and Ruth's little brother. Liam, meet Zayn - my little brother. There you go, problem solved, yeah."

Liam wants to open his mouth to question her, but there's something in Doniya's eyes that tells him to hold back. It's mirrored in Zayn's eyes as they have a brief exchange with only their eyebrows.

Only when the girls have driven away and Liam, not feeling particularly welcomed, is walking home does he realize what it was.

_______

"I didn't know you painted."

Zayn lifts his paintbrush, eyes wild over the canvas where he looks up to meet Liam's gaze. "What?"

Liam shrugs, stepping past the door jam. This is the farthest room on the right, exactly opposite the one he woke up in that morning before promptly having a panic attack. It's also the only room that has any color besides the white walls and dark furniture. "Watercolor," Liam says intelligently, something tugging in the farthest corners of his mind. Something wrong, "You - you like watercolor?"

Zayn twists the brush in his hands, "I mean - yeah. I'm an artist. Watercolor's nice you know, makes everything look muted. Easy to blend, especially when you want to do more realistic pieces." He shrugs, a hard set to his shoulders, "Is that a problem?"

"No," Liam shakes his head, stepping closer and craning his neck to get a better sense of what exactly Zayn is painting. "Not at all. Just - seems a little a strange." He shakes his head, rattling his thoughts, "Watercolor."

Zayn swallows, proceeds to tug him closer, until they're pressed up against each other, little puffs of his breath pushing into the hallows of Liam's collarbones. "Do you like it?"

Liam furrows his eyebrows, the mass of dull reds, browns, and vibrant blues, shaping into a neighborhood he's sure he's seen before. The dirt peppered fan on the back of rusted porch steps, the old truck he thinks he's seen drive down the street a few times even though gas was precious. "It's beautiful," Liam whispers, a strange sensation rising in the back of his throat, "I - looks like somewhere I'd live, funnily enough. Dunno why though."
Zayn kisses him then, sudden, and hot, tracing the insides of his mouth and biting down at his lip, "It does, doesn't it," he manages to get out, before he's pressing impossibly closer. Liam holds him tightly in return, something about the heat of Zayn's skin feeling invaluable against his own.

_______

The ID chip is beeping before Liam has a chance to prepare himself. He blinks at the screen for long moments, the familiar black hair, the kind eyes staring up into the screen as Zayn requests for entrance into his home.

Liam swallows terribly, before allowing him in. The swinging of the door makes him dizzy, though, palms clamming up instantly. He wipes them hastily on his jeans just in case Zayn wants to shake them again, or God forbid, hold one of them, maybe.

The footsteps from the foyer echo all the way to the dining hall table, where Liam is sitting in front of a hot bowl of oatmeal that Karen fixed for him a few minutes before heading to work. He should probably eat it quickly and go as far to scrape out every last bit. Food isn't a rarity, but enough food is. Liam feels perpetually hungry and it does nothing for his moods.

"Liam?"

"Here," his voice squeaks embarrassingly, so he clears his throat before speaking again, repeating himself, "Come in Zayn."

Zayn's head pokes around the wall not ten seconds later and he grins at Liam wide, mischievous. "Found you," he says, voice light and lilting. He's flirting, Liam thinks a little dumbly. His eyes are big, brown, beautiful, and his body language is welcoming and engaging. A far cry from the hunched over, cross, and defensive boy he remembers from the porch. The one whose conversation Doniya had to nearly force herself into in order to prevent it from being a complete train wreck, though Liam's not too sure if her efforts were successful in anyway.

"You did," Liam returns, albeit more subdued.

Zayn must read the hesitancy in him, because he sighs then, shoulders dropping as he walks around the dining area, until he's standing next to the chair Liam is currently occupying. "Liam, I'm sorry about the other day."

Liam shakes his head and tries to bury himself into his oatmeal though it's clearly an impossible feat, "I didn't. I mean. 's okay Zayn."

There's a warm, warm hand on his shoulder, making Liam jolt. He blinks up at Zayn, faintly wondering how anybody could look that soft in a leather jacket in the middle of spring.

"No," Zayn shakes his head, "I was - I was having a bad day. Didn't mean to take it out on you, but I did. And I'm sorry I did."

Liam looks back down at the table, tracing the wood grains with his eyes. There's a long pause before he chooses to speak next, "You - you didn't know who I was."

"I did -"

"Don't lie," Liam whispers, but it cuts off Zayn's insisting immediately. The room is strangely silent, uncomfortable, but Zayn makes no move to remove his hand. "You didn't remember me. And I saw you just last week."

He feels Zayn tense for a long moment, before all the fight drains out of him.  His eyes stay firmly planted on the table, even when Zayn rounds the table, back to where he was previously standing to take a seat across from him.

"I'm - I'm having some medical issues, Liam."

Liam's head snaps up, heart hammering. He doesn't know what his face must look like in that second, but it's enough to make Zayn crack a small, reassuring smile.  

Zayn laughs, then, lightly at his expression. His posture is loose, as if this condition didn't really bother him, "It's nothing serious, Li, - "

Liam's stomach warms at the nickname, cheeks pinking embarrassingly.

" - no need to look so terrified. Some trouble remembering things that's all."

Liam squints at him, "So you - you have trouble remembering people you meet?"

Zayn swallows, "A little, yeah. It gets better once I see them more often though. Like, I don't forget my mum or my sisters, yeah? Just like - faces on the street or what I had for lunch last Thursday. That sort of thing. Nothing important, I promise - it's actually hardly even an issue. "

Liam nods slowly, at a loss for words.

"It's not a big deal," Zayn insists again, quietly, "Like. I don't have a disease. 's just been happening since the relocation. The doctor's aren't sure why, yet."

"Oh," Liam says faintly. And then a thought occurs to him, and he perks up, "Did you remember me then?" He words come out too quickly for it to be a casual question. He feels like he shouldn't be this thrilled, but nobody had even bothered to come to his sixteenth birthday party a few years back, and he's pretty sure that none of them were suffering with memory problems. Liam hasn't sent any invites to anything since then and he certainly hadn't expected any drop-ins.

Zayn's answering smile is soft, bashful, and he ducks his head. "Doni shouted at me for a bit, yeah. Then it - clicked. Like I'd never want to forget you, Leeyum. Like - I didn't know you, yeah. But I didn't want you to leave - "

And, God, Liam is so, so fucked. And so early too. He's usually not this fucked over someone until a bit later.

A rush of warmth runs through his body, "Can we start over?"

Zayn grins, relief crinkling beautifully into the corners of his eyes, " 'course, Liam. Course we can."

_______

There's something about the way Zayn fucks him sometimes, all heat and desperation curled up into the tight snaps of his hips, hands tightly fisted by Liam's head as he brackets him in, lips brushing over his forehead.

It's good, though, of course. Because it's Zayn and everything is always good with Zayn.

Doesn't mean that it's not different however, something unfamiliar about the way Zayn's so careful with him like he'd never want to hurt him, but rough enough so that Liam enjoys it - and all at the same time too. The way he makes Liam feel unconditionally loved, almost like this had never happened before. When Liam brought it up to Zayn the first time they'd slept together, Zayn had laughed him off, called it ridiculous that he could ever be anything other than completely attentive to anything Liam would ever want.

But something's wrong this time, especially in the way Zayn's noises aren't one of pleasure, face angled away so Liam can't see his face, but the tears that drip from his thick lashes and onto Liam's neck aren't so easy to hide however.

"Zayn," Liam breathes quietly, "Zayn calm down. Please"

The sound that escapes Zayn's mouth in response scares him further, a sob that twists down into his bones, freezing up and looking everywhere other than down into Liam's face, "Am I not good, then, Liam. Not as good as - "

"Zayn," Liam, interrupts, then promptly wishes he hadn't. "I don't - I don't know what's wrong, sweetheart. I mean," he pushes his nose into Zayn's throat, trying to smooth things over, "probably everything. But  - I want you to be okay."

Zayn's letting out these muffled sounds, soft noises of pain that are simply heartbreaking to listen to. Liam doesn't think Zayn's ever sounded like that, at least he doesn't think so, but nothing's like it used to be.

They breathe together for long moments, Zayn still pressed deep inside him, more of a comfort factor than anything at this point. Liam swallows tightly, the sorrow that he's carefully kept at bay threatening to consume him whole. He nudges Zayn off gently, curling up around the delicate body that he adores so much.

"Let me help you," he whispers, "Please, Zayn. Whatever's wrong, you can tell me and we'll fix it together, okay."

Zayn's shoulders are shaking rapidly, fingers trembling where they're pressed against Liam's neck, "I can't," he mutters, "You'd hate me, yeah, like you'd hate me. And I don't think I could take that. Ever. Because you mean everything to me, you know, and now you're here, cold and unhappy and it's all my fault. I should've - "

"Zayn - "

"I'm so fucking selfish," he gets out, cry piercing the deathly silence around them, then promptly lowers his voice, "But I just wanted to be with you, I swear. I never meant for all this to happen."

Liam closes his eyes, nuzzles into the soft tufts of dark hair, forcing the panic down until it's just an ebbing background emotion, "It's okay, Zayn. Whatever it is, it's okay - "

"It's not."

" - sleep now. Just sleep. We'll talk later."

_______

Liam watches Zayn die on a Sunday.

It was sort of a shock, really, but he guesses all deaths must seem so. Seem like accidents, unreal and dreamlike until reality crashes down around you. Tricia cries a lot, so much in fact that Liam's afraid that the tears will never stop soaking her cheeks, becoming a permanent fixture on her like the way the light's gone out of Doniya's eyes entirely.

Liam only comes out of his room twice in the following days, once to wait at his door step for the ID chip that the coroner is supposed to cut out of Zayn's arm that never comes, and another time to wastefully fill his tub with warm water and soak in it for hours, remembering the heat of Zayn's body around and in him.

They were something, Liam knows, something special. Even if Zayn denied it half the time, slapped him on the back and called him mate, even if he turned him down that one night. They were something unique and carefully crafted, their connection burrowing warmly into the underside of his ribs. Zayn's softness with words, his clever tongue, wicked eyes, and brilliant, brilliant hands had become a home for Liam unlike any other.

Liam misses him dearly, thinks that Zayn would show up any minute on his porch steps, and kiss him quietly, just for the two of them to know.

"Do you want to talk about it?" his mum asks when Liam's finally emerged. There are bags under her eyes, a haunted look pulling at the corners of her mouth that's probably mirrored in his own face.

Liam shakes his head twice.

"Okay," Karen whispers softly. She stirs the measly contents of her pot, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "I'm sorry," she offers finally.

"Me too," Liam whispers quietly.

"I wish it were different, sweetheart."

"Me too."

"There will be other boys, Liam, you'll see."

"Okay."

_______

"There was an accident," Liam says quietly. Zayn's huddled into his arms, shivering. Everything around them is still unnaturally cold, a synthetic chill that goes bone deep and rattles him from the inside out. "Someone got hurt."

The house looks a little different now, walls painted warm beige, blue curtains fluttering even though Liam swears there's no wind. The windows are still blacked out however, and he's still not allowed to step outside the front door. The backyard is open now, though, and the sun shines hot over the little patch of green grass that's vaguely familiar. The brown fence that runs along the edges of the little yard goes up and over Liam's head, each wooden block a different color, almost as if it were a child's work of art.

Liam loves the backyard, makes him think of summer days, melted chocolate, and the heat of Zayn's gaze.

There's something different about the Zayn that's with him now, the way he's as much of a stranger as he is familiar. Like a shell of the man he used to know. Liam would never say so out-loud though, Zayn looks like he could fall apart at any moment, clutching his organs tightly into his body, held together by a slim string of attitude and sheer will power. Which is, admittedly, mildly irritating, considering Liam's not the one arming himself with secrets a mile high.

"Somebody got really hurt," Liam repeats again, when Zayn stays silent for too long. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah," Zayn replies faintly, "I remember."

Liam snorts, "That's fantastic - because I don't you know. And it's starting to piss me the fuck off."

Zayn shifts so he's upright, turning his head to look at Liam with wounded eyes.

Liam looks away immediately, guilt and hurt hammering away at him for losing his temper like that, "I didn't mean - "

"You're right," Zayn says, "I've been keeping you in the dark, and it's wrong of me." He lets out a long rush of air, contrary to the way Liam can't seem to breathe in this house sometimes. He squeezes his eyes tight, lowers his head, but doesn't object when Liam reaches over to brush his fingers under his chin. "You know how you can't remember much? Yeah," he reaches over to kiss at Liam's fingers, "that's my fault. May have been something I was involved in."

Liam furrows his brow, "I don't understand."

"Liam," Zayn says quietly, "do you remember the invasion?"

"Invasion," he tests the word on his tongue, rolling it over in his brain, mulling over the way that it lights up little alarm bells of recognition. "Yeah - I mean no, but, like - vaguely?"

"Vaguely," Zayn snorts, amused corners of his mouth turning upwards despite his bitter expression, "I'm talking about the Higher Invasion - you know, the alien one?"

"Oh."

_______

"They're a bunch of filthy body snatchers," Zayn snarls at the radio. Liam flinches; almost reaches to comfort Zayn before realizing that they're not like that. At least not right now, not in this moment. Zayn doesn't seem to be feeling that right now.

"Don't say that," Liam mutters back, heart hammering, "One ID scan and they'd - "

Zayn sneers viciously, "Like I give a fuck. My best mate's missing, Liam. You should've seen Danny's face when Ant's chip was delivered to his door - like a fucking afterthought. Like, so sorry your brother's fucking dead but - "

"Zayn," Liam whispers harshly, "you'll be charged for treason, please."

Zayn kicks out against the table leg, shaking the entire surface and tipping over a glass of water. Liam watches it trickle through the groves in the wood silently as Zayn curses, angry and hurt, "Fucking body snatchers. You realize Ant's gonna come back in a few days, except one of them is gonna be in his body. And we have to live with that. We have to be okay with one of our own being taken - like it's nothing. Like we should be thankful another body isn't going to waste."

Liam lowers his eyes because he can't imagine how Zayn's feeling. He's never had anything like this happen to him - in fact, this is probably the most direct contact he's ever had with the Higher. There have only ever been stories - rumors - of the replacements. They're not exactly common knowledge since the World Wide Web was taken down five years ago, libraries shut down, books seized. His mum, who holds a graduates degree in Mathematics and will probably be the last of earth's generation that grew in a time when mass higher education was still possible, said that stupidity was an important part of population control. Thanks to the ID chip, even mouth to mouth communication is restrictive.

It's all very efficient.

Like that sentence that he knows like the back of his hand now. The Higher have no physical bodily form. Instead their life essence exists as a sliver of bright matter that's beyond the scope of human vision or understanding -

Efficient, industrial, but heartless and a little inhumane all at the same time.

_______

Liam blinks at the sunlight, unused to the way that it penetrates his retinas. He feels as though it's been years since he's been exposed to anything other than Zayn that surrounds his body with heat, the house leaving everything in its wake chilled to the bone.

Zayn steps out behind him, shutting the door with the arm that's not clutched gently around Liam's waist with a soft click. He spreads his free arm, squeezing his hip, "Well, here we are."

Liam looks around and realizes with a start that it's the street from Zayn's painting. He takes a step forward, Zayn letting him move easily, and it's - it's deserted. Completely dead. He looks back at the way Zayn's twisting his fingers together nervously.

"Where are we?" he asks, and his voice is deathly silent, the tense anger tucked into hidden syllables.

Zayn swallows, "Home. This is where we live, Liam." He sounds terribly unsure, nobody would believe him, and least of all Liam.

He blinks around at the deserted landscape, the way the street seems to pinch off towards the point where there's a bend in the road. "Zayn," he says very slowly, very calmly, "What exactly do you mean by home?" There are hands pressed into his sides then, tugging him back frantically, but Liam fights him off, "Don't we live with other people? Who lives in those houses, Zayn?"

"Please," Zayn sounds anguished. He's clearly read the anger coloring Liam's tone, "I - I'll fix it, give me some time, Li. I didn't realize."

"No," Liam breaks out of his grasp, twisting around to face Zayn head on, watches the way his delicate shoulders curl in on himself in an effort to make himself smaller and out of Liam's wrath's reach, "Where. Are. We?"

Zayn opens his mouth, but no sound escapes. His eyes are bright with tears, "Not on Earth."

Liam smiles then, twisted, jarred, as something slots slowly into place. It's been in front of him the whole time, he's not exactly sure how he's missed it - the clues were unmistakable, even with his shoddy memory, "You're not Zayn are you?"

Zayn lowers his head. "No," he whispers, dejected, "No, I'm not."

_______

"Fucking hate watercolor," Zayn grumbles, leaning against the side of his house with a cigarette dangling from between his lips. Liam's not too sure where he gets them from, especially considering how expensive and rare any type of addictive substance, including medication, has become, but Zayn always seems to have them on him. Perks of being a member of the Artesian Class he said when Liam asked him once, raising his eyebrows and daring Liam to challenge him. Liam never brings it up again.

"Yeah?" Liam's talking bullshit. He really doesn't understand the difference between watercolor and acrylic or any of the other fancy art terminology Zayn uses around him, mixed effortlessly into his casual speech, like he takes personal pride in being smarter than Liam's factory-laborer self. All he knows is that he likes it when Zayn spray paints in the garage when Doniya takes the car out.

Zayn scowls, "It's all realistic and shit - like if I wanted to do that, I'd take a picture you know? The point is for this shit to be fun and as weird as I fucking want it to be. If I want to paint a green lad, I will you know - make it loud and obnoxious and annoying."

Liam nods, transfixed by the way Zayn's mouth wraps around the cigarette, wants to lean in and lick the taste off of his lips. But. Not that he'd ever say. Zayn doesn't seem too interested in relationships most of the time, although there are times when he knows just how to make Liam feel incredibly special. Like he matters in a far deeper way than just the mate across the street.

But they're not anything - not officially anyway. Even though Liam knows what Zayn's palm feels like in his hand, around his cock. Knows how he tastes and sounds when he comes, knows that he likes to get unashamedly loud, telling Liam exactly what he likes and doesn't.

" - don't want me to anymore. Say there's no real demand for spray painted, hoodlum graffiti in Higher Society." He tosses the still lit cigarette to the ground, crushing the thing viciously with the heel of his shoes, "As if I'm supposed to give a flying fuck about what they say."

"I'm sorry," Liam mutters. The sun's setting behind Zayn's head, blazing him in a plethora of colors, lighting his eyes green, and reminding him of the Sunset Curfew.

Zayn must notice the time too because he looks over his shoulder and sighs heavily at the impending darkness. "The days are so fucking short you know."

"Yeah," Liam agrees, because he spends six hours a day in the factory for not even two square meals a day. He lowers his voice, as if that'd stop the ID chip from picking up on his words, "Wish we could leave you know, go back to the way it used to be."

Zayn squints up at the sky, coughing as the dust rises around them, "D'ya remember the way it used to be?"

Liam shakes his head, "I was too young - just about four when it all happened."

"Doniya remembers," Zayn says suddenly. Liam loves it when Zayn opens up like this, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, Liam likes to cherish the moments, think back on them when he's alone, "doesn't really talk about it - too afraid I suppose - but like. She knows things. Said one day she came home from high school and never went back."

"Must've been awful."

Zayn smirks at him, "She hated high school. A breeding ground for idiocy she always said."

"Oh," Liam says, blinking the dust out of his eyes. It's bad today, the Air Rovers clearly not working up to their optimal conditions.
Zayn nods at him awkwardly, looking away and Liam wishes he had something interesting to add to the conversation so Zayn would want to continue talking to him. But Liam's a mess over Zayn, isn't the best with words normally, and when it really counts, he's complete and utter rubbish.

"Well," Liam breaks in before he can embarrass himself any further, "I guess I'll just be on my way then, it's getting late anyway - "

"Stay," Zayn says quietly, "You should - you can come in. I mean mum and Doniya are probably in bed already, since they've got an early morning shift at some classical museum but like. If you want to come up - with just me - "
"Yeah," Liam breathes, knowing that be probably seems way too eager for such a casual invitation. But he knows Zayn, knows how to read his tone and eyes, understands what it means when everything in his voice is tinged with roughness, pupils blown dark from the way he's being looked up and down.

Zayn smiles at him, and Liam shivers.

His mother would be so disappointed.

_______

When Liam was four years old, tripping over the laces on his shoes on the way back from school, his life, among seven billion others, takes an unexpected turn.

He's holding his mother's hand, her kind eyes trained on him as he stumbles over his syllables in an effort to tell his mother everything that Ms. Sunny had told him about how to know if something was a vegetable or a fruit. She's smiling down at him, brown eyes lit by the bright sunlight, as adults coo at him when they walk past him.

"We need to get you a haircut," she's saying fondly, "You're starting to look like a little lion, all hair and tiny, pouty face."

Liam screws up his face dramatically, but the roar dies on his lips. The sun disappears as large whirring begins from the sky. Everywhere around him, people are gasping, pointing upwards, or running for cover.

His mum glances upwards, "Oh my God," she breathes, "What on earth - "

Liam cranes his neck back then, curiosity getting the better of him. Above him is a large, black mass with faint blinking lights, so large that it ate up the sky for as far as he could see, blocking out any natural light and casting all of them into near darkness.

"Liam," his mother sounds urgent, "We need to get home, sweetheart, right now."

"But, mum - "

"Right. Now."

She takes his hand, tightly, forcibly walking towards the direction of their street, dragging him along with her.

Liam squirms, "But mummy - "

She turns on him, blonde hair flying as the noise around them grows to a deafening frequency. "Liam James Payne," she says, angrier than Liam's ever heard her before, "If you don't listen to me right now, so help me I will - "

Liam cowers at her tone because he never meant make her angry. "I'm scared," he whispers.

Her eyes soften immediately, opening her arms for Liam to burrow into. She lifts him up, whispering soothingly in his ears that everything is going to be alright. That everything will be okay if they just got home to Daddy, Ruth, and Nic. Liam nods along, pretending to be her brave boy like she asks him to be.

It takes him a few months to understand that it was a ship almost the size of the continent of Europe that Ms. Sunny pointed out to their class two weeks ago, but by then, everything has changed. Liam never gets to see Ms. Sunny again.

Two days after the sighting, Mankind collectively, as an entity, declares war. Three and a half weeks after the sighting, just under four billion people are dead.

Liam sits at the kitchen table, surrounded by his mother, his two sisters, and his father, who's currently hobbling on crutches from a war blast he suffered. He sits and listens to the Queen of England, under control of the Higher, declare the Earth to be Terra Colony #47.

_______

"He didn't love you."

Liam's walking back into the house, panic-driven heart plunging into his chest. He's not sure if it's the words or the serious lack of knowledge about anything in his life at the moment.

"Don't fucking give me that," Liam snarls, "Zayn and I - we were. You'd never understand what exactly was between us. It was real, okay. You've no idea how he made me feel."

Zayn - or who ever the fuck is standing in front of him - bites down on his lip, "You think Zayn Malik loved you?" He sounds calm, tone almost too even for Liam's liking. It's deeply unsettling. "Because it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself and not me."

It's a low blow, hitting Liam where it hurts. And this Zayn clearly knows that because his face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, though he struggles to maintain his composure.

"He must have," Liam says, but he can hear the shakiness in his own voice. He curses internally, "He cared," Liam insists, but Zayn's face remains carefully devoid of emotion, "A lot." He laughs, then, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to curb the rising wetness, "Not that I really remember. Just flashes, feelings mostly."

Zayn sighs, and his shoulders drop considerably. It's only moments like these that Liam remembers how small he is, how china-like his bones must be in comparison to his own, how Zayn was never really made for hard labor or difficultly the way Liam was used to living. "I just wanted to make you happy," he says at last, tired, "But if you'd prefer it if I left you alone, then I will. I can't - " he looks pained, "we can't go back. Not to Earth. But anything else, ask anything and I'll - I'll give it my best, okay, Li."

Liam crumbles, softening his voice. Zayn still looks like himself, sounds like himself, and it's a desperate weakness, "I - can I get my memories back? Everything. Just so I can finally remember something else other than the screaming?"

Zayn swallows, "Okay." There's an unreadable expression pulling at the corners of his temples, hands fisted tightly at his sides.

"I won't be angry," Liam rushes, guilt gnawing away at his veins. Zayn's been nothing but kind since he's arrived, there's no need for him to be rude in return. And it might even be counterproductive.

"Course you won't, Leeyum" Zayn says sardonically, ducking his head with a fleeting, ironic smile. He shudders, "What do you know about Zayn?"

"I love Zayn," Liam says immediately, no hesitation needed before the answer springs to his tongue.

The Zayn in front of him closes his eyes in what looks like shame, "Zayn is dead, Liam."

Liam blinks.

"He was always going to die, if I had my way. But obviously I would never have been given official permission for a senseless killing - but you have to believe me here, Liam - in the end it was an accident. Seeing you like that almost killed me, and I just I had to do what I did. I didn't mean for it to turn out so badly - the fire, the smoke - I only wanted to help but then - "

"The sector fire," Liam whispers, something horrible twisting in his stomach. "The wiring was off or something and it all caught on fire, didn't it? The building was alight for hours."

"I'm sorry," Zayn offers at last, "especially for all the lies that came before and after."

_______

The first thing Liam notices is that Zayn's house is blessedly cool, blanketing itself from the suffocating heat and dust from outside. It's also dark when Zayn opens the door, letting the two of them in silently, urging Liam to be as quiet as he can. Liam nods along, squashing down on the little part of him that feels like a used, dirty secret.

"Mum won't be too happy with boys in my room at this time," Zayn whispers to him, hushed, "You've gotta be quiet - and 'sides, she'd kill me if I woke her up now."

Liam grins widely at him in the darkness, heart hammering in ridiculous excitement, "Not me who has to worry about that, babe." The flirting comes naturally at these moments.

Zayn socks him in the arm, swearing lowly under his breath, "Fucking tosser, we'll see who can still talk after, yeah?" He gingerly dodges the shoe rack and umbrellas by the door. Liam remembers that Tricia once told his mother that she just liked having them there, that they reminded her of a better time. It hardly rains anymore, something about rapid climate and terrain change after the war had sunk Australia and scorched out parts of the Indian and Pacific Ocean.

Liam takes the stairs two at a time, and he's never felt lighter, dizzy and sick with happiness as Zayn tumbles him into the farthest of the three rooms upstairs. Zayn's house is exceptionally nice, all dark wood, white walls, minimalistic decoration. Class difference, he reckons, not that it's polite to point it out even if it was plain as day.

The door's barely shut behind him when Zayn presses up against him, hand over his mouth as he cocks his head to listen. "Yeah," he nods, "They're all asleep." He taps on Liam's nose, "Can't let 'em know, now can we?"

Liam swallows at the words, wants to shake them off and focus on the moment - that Zayn is here, thrumming with want under his fingers. But it's true isn't it - that statement. How much Zayn wants Liam as long as nobody else knows anything about it. When he'd brought it up to his mum, she'd smiled and told him sometimes having things be private is the best feeling in the world. Except now even she gives him sad eyes when Liam tells her that he's off to see Zayn.

He nudges closer, nosing up the line of his neck, before promptly pulling back, nose crinkled, "How much water they letting you use down there, Leeyum?"

Liam promptly flushes, embarrassment creeping up along his neck and burning his cheeks. He's been working all day, and the factory isn't quite like sitting at home and painting. "Sorry," he mumbles, pushing back on Zayn's chest gently so he can strip his sweaty shirt. "Sorry, Zayn."

Zayn smiles though," 'm just messing with you," he mutters, hands reaching and pressing along his chests, mouth a searing heat against Liam's lips. "What do you want," he asks gruffly, "What're you feeling?"

"Whatever you want," Liam says quietly, watching the way his hands grip and loosen on the fabric of Zayn's T-shirt by his waist, waiting, wanting.

Zayn sighs quietly, but the sound is underlain with a layer of frustration. Liam cringes. "Fine," Zayn says, then, "Wanna fuck you, that good?"

"Yeah," Liam nods, tipping forward to bury his face in Zayn's neck, "That's perfect."

They have to stop twice that night, once because Doniya walks past their room to use the bathroom, and another time when Zayn thinks he's heard his mum's low voice from the other room.

Liam honestly wouldn't have been able to notice either incident, too caught up in the way Zayn's necklaces pool in the hollows of his collarbone, brushing up and down Liam's neck with his smooth, hard stokes. Sex is the one of the few times Zayn likes to hold Liam's hands, twisting their fingers together and laying them on either sides of Liam's head.

Zayn makes Liam feel amazing, he's a searing presence in his body, a hot mouth on his, and piercing eyes, keeping Liam in place as he chases his pleasure. It's a bit ironic really, because he doesn't think Zayn even cares that the person under him is specifically Liam.

It's just a thought though, Liam would like to think that it matters - that he matters.

_______

"They weren't expecting any kind of resistance," Zayn explains softly. He's flipping through the channels of a wide, flat-screen TV. Liam doesn't think he's ever seen one before that took such little effort to work. He'd asked Zayn where the antenna was so he could adjust the picture and Zayn had sort of chuckled at him, before rapidly flipping through high definition pictures.

He hasn't seen Looney Tunes in what feels like ages, so Zayn lets him watch two full episodes in silence, tracing the lines of the animation with his eyes, before beginning any sort of conversation.

"What?" Liam says, a little distracted.

"The Higher. They weren't expecting any kind of resistance when they came."

Liam frowns, "That's stupid. There's seven billion of us - at least there used to be seven billion of us. We lived on Earth."

"We haven't faced much resistance before," Zayn admits, "The war tore the planet apart. Oceans gone, continents obliterated, and more death than we'd ever anticipated. After it was all done, it was our responsibility to rebuild, you know."

"Maybe you shouldn't have come in the first place then," Liam shoots back, but he regrets the words almost as soon as he hurls them. He glances fearfully to his right, catching Zayn's wry smile in the process.

"It's what we do though. We're a space empire. Besides," Zayn smiles, reaching across the couch to kick at Liam's feet, "You'd have missed me."

Liam snorts despite himself, "I wouldn't have ever even known you. How could I miss someone I didn't know?"

Zayn's quiet for moment, heartbeats passing between the two of them, tying them together, "You loved me - so much, Liam. So fucking much." He pauses again, but Liam's not exactly sure what he's waiting for, before he pushes forward quickly, "Anyway, we're a space empire, yeah. So like Earth wasn't the first colony - there's. We must have a couple dozen and it's like never our intention to destroy because that's counterproductive. But now, it's a fucking mess - the planet's done for - "

Liam feels a rush of hatred so acute for the words Zayn's uttering that he chokes on it.

Zayn must sense something in Liam's demeanor because he drops his eyes in regret, "It's why I can't take you back - the dust, Liam. Everything's dying, there's nothing left."

Liam nods, the sounds of the TV far away, ringing in his ears is a different kind of explosion, one that has little to do with cartoon bombs or humorous sticks of dynamite.

"I'm sorry," Zayn says for what feels like the millionth time since Liam's opened his eyes in this house in a flurry of panic, "I couldn't do anything about it."

_______

"I couldn't do anything about it."

Zayn's voice is quiet in the dark, barely a sliver of sound against the loud noise of the whirring ceiling fan, but Liam hears him either way. Would hear his voice over any amount of noise, just the quiet vibration of Zayn's northern accent around the syllables enough to catch his attention.

"What?"

They're lying in Liam's bed and it's a late Friday night. Liam doesn't work tomorrow until noon - he has a half-day shift that's a little less exhausting than what he works for the remainder of the week. Sometimes he envies Zayn, whose work consists of holing himself up in his nice, air-conditioned house. It's hot in Liam's house, always, even during the supposed colder months of November, December, and January. His mum says there used to be something called snow, crystalized water falling from the sky, blanketing everything in a haze of white, making it so cold that they could see their own breath in the clear, clean air. Liam would've never believed her had it not been for the sole photograph he has of chubby, toddlers Liam, Ruth, and Nic during some Christmas holiday season eons ago.

"We weren't of age when it began," Zayn says again, turning over so his back is to Liam's face. They're sweaty, come-covered, and Liam's legs are so sore that he doesn't think he can follow Zayn if he decides to leave the bed like he so often does after their nightly escapades.

Liam shuffles though, presses a hand to Zayn's sweat damp shoulder. Zayn never talks about this - the only person who ever acknowledges the happenings is Tricia on her worst days, muffled tears on Karen's shoulder as Liam politely averted his eyes, pretending to be busy. "The Draft?"

Liam's heard about it, only remembers it in the form of fourteen lonely nights, both his parents out on the frontlines. The Draft when the war had first happened had called for one able-bodied person for every two incapables. His parents had both fought, as had Zayn's, but while both of his had returned, Zayn was handed a jar of Yaser's supposed ashes. Yaser was a war general, a leader among the British Division, and his body had never been recycled. Liam wonders which could possibly be worse -hopes he never has to find out.

"Never mind," Zayn says quickly. He turns back around, wiping hastily at his eyes, "It's not important." He brings Liam close then, suddenly, and screws his eyes shut for a full five seconds before he's moving away, not letting the contact linger, "I'm okay. It was a long time ago."

"Zayn." He doesn't get a response, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the fan. "Zayn," Liam tries again, this time, scooting forward on the bed, tucking himself under Zayn's arm. "You can talk about it if you want," Liam assures him, "I won't even say anything if you don't want me to - I'll just listen."

But Zayn jerks back like he's been burned, and his eyes are colder than anything Liam's experienced in a long, long time, "No - I. Liam we don't do this okay. Like I don't know what you think we are, but fuck, This is private okay. Not something that you have the right to know about me. I'm not gay. "

Liam blinks at the sudden turn of conversation. But Zayn has his moments, like they all do. "I never said you were."

Zayn stares him down, tucking closer into himself, "We fuck okay, but like that's it. This isn't going to be some story where I'm secretly in love with you or some shit. We - I like sleeping with you. I don't want to, like, talk to you about this though."

Liam's face must give something away, because Zayn scrambles up quickly, "You're like - you're okay with that right? Because if you're not then maybe we shouldn't do all this for a while, clear our heads a little. Like, just be - "

"No," Liam drags him back down, forcefully, swallowing down everything bubbling up from his lungs, crawling up his throat, and squeezing into the corners of his eyes, "We're cool, Zayn. We're fine. Great, even."

Zayn lays down, but it's hesitant, and for the first time in nearly fourteen, hot, scorching years, Liam feels a chill so cold run down his spine that it ices him from the inside out.

_______

There's bright sunlight pouring in from the windows now, throwing prisms of light all over the floor of the house. The carpet has also changed, going from it's previous pristinely white color to being stained in some places, mostly with paint, and some of them look a little familiar, like Liam's stared at them before while waiting, always waiting.

The thing is, now that Liam can actually see outside, he's craving the chance to go out, run, maybe go in that house with the rusty back porch just because he's a curious little shit. Zayn's still asleep though, and the clock on the wall says it's nearly eleven am, Earth time.

Even in outer space, or wherever the hell they are, Liam manages to be a morning person. It soothes him a little, the idea that some things really do never change. That there is someone that he can point at and call myself.

He's bored though, has been so for the past two weeks as he waits for something called an ID chip to be delivered to their house. Apparently it has something to do with his memories and Zayn had been frustratingly, but expectedly, vague about the whole situation. Liam's just excited to remember though, place names and faces to the occasional flashes of colors and sounds he has. Not to say he isn't nervous, terrified, and sick with anticipation all at once.

Although, admittedly, as scared as he is, there's nobody that could've potentially worried as much as Zayn has. Zayn's convinced that Liam's going to abhor him, detest every fiber of his being, but a small part of Liam knows that he could never truly hate Zayn, not really. He's just hoping he's right because if Zayn's hid it this long, choosing to carry the burden entirely on his own although whatever it is, is clearly eating him alive, then it's got to be quite the event.

"Zayn?" he pokes his head into the cool, large master bedroom. There's a lump of white blankets that shifts with a groan and Liam suppresses a smile. The house isn't all that cold anymore, feels more lived in than ever, and though it does have its occasional chilly bouts, Zayn insists on wrapping himself like a burrito every single goddamned night, leaving Liam either freezing in the corner or scooting away from him, suffocated by the mixture of Zayn and his combined body heat and sheets. "Zayn, I'm gonna go for a quick run okay?"

He gets a grunt in response, and suddenly he's not here anymore. He's standing someplace else, the rhythmic beats of a ceiling fan, watching Zayn turn over under a quilted afghan, pulling it tighter over his head with a pinched expression, adorable tufts of hair sticking out over where he's got the afghan pulled, nearly covering his whole face.

Liam crosses the plush carpeting carefully, the ghost of wooden flooring beneath his feet, and rests a hand on Zayn's cheek, rubbing across his heartbreaking cheekbones gently.

"Leeyum," Zayn's voice is rough with sleep, but he sounds incredibly fond, " Wha' ya doin?"

Liam swallows back the strange emotion rising in his chest, filling into the corners of his lips and turning them sharply upwards. He gives in when he catches sight of Zayn's fluttering lashes, grinning widely at the beautiful man in his bed, "I'm going running, you wanna come?"

Zayn opens his eyes blearily, and they're bloodshot, like he hasn't really slept all that well. Liam instantly feels bad, remembers him fidgeting last night, tossing until the bed was squeaking from the force of his movements, keeping Zayn awake and miserable for the most of it. "Hope you run off of a cliff, Leeyum."

A laugh blooms out of his diaphragm unexpectedly; the muscles and expression feel strange on Liam's face, a toss back to something Liam doesn't think he's ever experienced before. "I'll try not to," Liam says softly, "Get some sleep, Zayn."

Zayn blinks at him, and he looks more awake than before, something stringing the two of them together, intertwining them tightly, "Yeah," he echoes, "Yeah I will." He turns his face into Liam's stomach, curling his legs together under the duvet, until he's in a fetal position, small and delicate under Liam's large, callous hands.

Liam watches him for a long moment, drags his fingers through his hair and down Zayn's back, watching as he slowly tenses and then relaxes under his touch. "I'll be back in forty," Liam says, earning himself a hum in response.

Zayn reaches out, thumbs over Liam's bellybutton, and brushes a hand across his stomach softly, "Love you, Li."

Liam smiles, light and happy, "Have a good sleep, Zayn."

_______

"Do you know where his body's going then?"

It's not something he's meant to ask. Liam knows this, but he can't bear the thought of not knowing. Or maybe he can't bear the thought of knowing. The Higher almost always stayed true to the lives of the humans whose bodies they occupied, especially if the humans had families. He wonders if the one that gets Zayn's body will keep it the same, maintain the careful ink that mars Zayn's body, control how much Zayn used to smoke, want to fuck Liam into -

"Not sure," Doniya squints at the horizon. Her face is hard these days, hair pulled back severely. "Think mum knows for sure because she got some letter in the mail yesterday, but she hasn't shown it to any of us yet." She's got a cigarette burning in her right hand. Liam didn't know she smoked, but he can see why the action would be comforting. Just the scent is enough to calm him down and lull him into a false sense of security.

"Oh," Liam mumbles. He kicks at one of the rocks near his feet, causing a cloud of dust to rise in its wake. He coughs thickly, choking on the smoggy air.

Doniya makes a frustrated sound, rubbing her hands over her arms, "This fucking dust, I swear." She sweeps a hand over the porch wood, and her hand comes up gray, clearing out a section of the wood, "It's fucking everywhere, isn't it? You'd think they'd do a better job cleaning up after themselves considering how advanced they are."

Liam shrugs. "Think that's bit of an ego thing to be honest - I mean, they took all those things. The Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Taj Mahal. Wonder what they did with all of 'em sometimes."

Doniya laughs, but it's a bitter sound, leaning her head onto the porch beam and closing her eyes. "They took everything."

Liam swallows, Zayn's smile flashing in his mind, "Yeah," he agrees, flexing his fists, "yeah they did. " He thinks he understands Zayn's hate now. It was never consistent though, some days he'd curse them out, and other days Liam would get an objective deconstruction of the Higher's actions. It all depended on Zayn's mood, like so many other things in Liam's life often did.

They're silent for a while, and Liam wants to leave. Doesn't feel welcome in the Malik’s home anymore.

"They're not bringing him back."

Liam snaps his head up, heart booming in his chest. He's not sure whether that's a good or bad thing honestly.  "What do you mean?"

Doniya shrugs, but she's clearly deeply bothered, "The dust makes everyone's lungs weak, but Zayn smoked." She clenches her jaw, "Apparently they did a scan on him, detected the beginnings of cancer in his left lung. No use brining back someone who's going to take that much effort just to keep functioning, you know. His body's being scrapped."

Liam stares, dumbfounded.

Doniya makes fleeting eye-contact with him, "Sorry," she says, as if that's something to help or comfort in the current situation, "I sneaked the letter when mum wasn't watching. Just thought you should know cause like - I mean. I know how you felt about him. Practically everyone does."

Liam nods, clears his throat. There's something crushing his insides. "Yeah. I - he meant a lot to me."

Doniya's eyes are soft, "Never did like the way he treated you," she says quickly, hushed, like the words weren't really supposed to come out.

"He was good to me," it's almost a reflex now - to his mum first, to Doniya now, "sometimes. I mean. He was never cruel he just -"

Doniya sweeps to her feet suddenly, crushing Liam into a hug. "It's okay to miss him," she says thickly, "We love him."

Liam closes his eyes tightly and hugs her back, his grip just as tight.

_______

"You built all this?"

Zayn grips his hand tightly, as if he's afraid Liam's going to bolt. It makes Liam feel a little insulted, "Yeah," he says, eyes flickering across the neighborhood, eventually coming to a rest on Liam, "Do you like it? I mean, I did do it for you."

And it's amazing is what it is - how Zayn can so casually confess something like that. That he spent almost a month carefully constructing an exact replica of Liam's old home just to make him happy. Amazing.

"It's," Liam's throat closes up, "It's not the same but - " And it isn't, the air's too fresh, no rolling dust, rising in heaps and clouds over the horizon, just clear, blue sky and fresh white clouds. But he can see the house with the familiar rusted back steps and ripped screen door tucked into the corner of the street. "Thank you."

"You're happy?"

Liam turns to face Zayn, watches the way his shoulders curl in, chin ducked.  "No," he admits, "But I will be. It'll be okay, Zayn, even after my ID chip comes."

"You're going to be so - "

"I'll deal," Liam interrupts, "Won't be easy, but those things - those people - are in the past, yeah, it's time to move on." His voice is more confident than the feeling twisting through his gut, but he knows somewhere deep inside that he's on the right train of thought with this one.  

Zayn brings his hand up to his mouth to kiss, an intimate gesture just for the two of them. He smiles at him, just a little thing, pushing up the sides of Zayn's lips, the gesture breathtaking with his cheekbones.

Liam swallows it all back, "Tell me about all this then. How'd you build it? Where are we?"

Zayn tugs on the hand he's still got in his grasp, drawing Liam away from the front steps of the house, "Come on," he says, "Let's go for a walk and I'll explain along the way."

As they move forward, Liam turns his head to take in the beautifully trimmed exterior of the house he's spent the last so many weeks in. It's glisteningly clean, cream paint dazzling in the sun in comparison to what the rest of the street looks like. It's out of place entirely, but that's exactly what Zayn's been like in his life he thinks because there's no way that someone like Zayn could actually fit seamlessly with someone like him.

Before he can really think, or God forbid, comment on his idea, Zayn draws his attention away, "It's a replica of where you used to live," he repeats, watching as Liam reaches out to touch a fence on the edge of the road. Andy, his mind supplies when he looks up at the modest home, nothing like the one him and Zayn have been staying in. It's more familiar somehow, homely. "The street you used to live on," Zayn corrects himself.

Liam looks around at the tranquil landscape, "Is it - is it real?"

"Yes and no," Zayn admits, "I mean, to us it is, it's the only home I've known. Our world is more malleable than yours is, matter easily changed. It'd take a few more weeks, but like if you wanted, we could live in - in an airport, or the Taj Mahal, or - you get the idea. It's not fake, but not - not authentic, like. You know what I mean?"

Liam nods, shielding his eyes from the bright sun, "Can you make it rain or snow? I haven't seen either in years."

Zayn kisses his shoulder and nods, "If you want."

"You're like a superhero then," Liam says, smiling gently at him. His heart feels a little full, once again at the idea that Zayn's gone into so much painstaking detail for him. Zayn bites his lip bashfully, but he looks thrilled at Liam's obvious contentment, "Can change the weather and everything."

Zayn laughs, beaming, "'m not that good at it actually. Like - Harry. I've got this neighbor named Harry Styles. He's got a mate from earth too - some loud Irish lad named Niall. He's brilliant at this stuff. Last time I visited they were living under the ocean - though their personal favorite seems to be a golf course out of everything."

Liam's ears are ringing at the thought of meeting Zayn's friends, "We have neighbors?"

Zayn smiles, "Course. My little pocket of the universe ends you know - in your old house's back yard to be more specific. But - you want to meet 'em?"

Liam shakes his head, "No, not today. Someday soon maybe, but not right now. I'm not ready, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Zayn's serious again, "Probably wanna make sure your memories are back before that all happens." He sighs, letting go of Liam's hand to tuck both of his own into his pockets, hiding, "The chip will be here tomorrow." He sounds resigned, dreadfully sad, and Liam's tired of the sorrow in both of their voices.

"Zayn," Liam whispers, reaching up to cup his cheeks.

"Listen, yeah" Zayn says, pushing forward because he's as stubborn as ever, "If you don't want to talk to me anymore, I'll get it but like - I just want you to know that it was an accident. That I didn't mean to do it and that I'll probably always be a poor imitation of him. And I know I can't speak for him, but I always loved you, yeah. Since that very first day in that stupid McDonald's where you were getting that terrible burger, I just wanted to be around you. It all went so fucking wrong in a way I never meant it to."

Liam's chest feels tight, and he draws Zayn closer into him, kissing the top of his head, "It'll be okay, Zayn, you'll see."

_______

"You bringing Liam?" The question is hushed, from Doniya to Zayn, clearly a private matter and definitely not for Liam's ears. They're talking about the annual Art Auction that happens in the Artisan Sector every year around the spring holiday season to celebrate the new harvest. It's happening this year even though there's been a historic drought and hardly anybody has enough to eat.

Liam looks away, busies himself in cutting onions like Tricia had asked him to do before she'd headed out with Karen, but Zayn and Doniya aren't exactly being indiscreet in the den, their voices carrying down the hallway, straight into Liam's unwilling ears.

And the thing is, Liam would absolutely love to go, not that he knows anything about art in general, but just as confirmation that he's not a delusional fool. Because Liam has met Zayn's family, has been in his home, in his bed, but there's a large part of him that, on occasion, feels completely excluded from Zayn's life.

He wants to be on Zayn's arm in public.

"Fuck no," comes the reply, quick and cutting. Liam flinches, doesn't really want to hear the rest, but there's not much he can do. His hand slips on the knife and he nicks himself accidentally, half startled, "I don't want a date. Liam's not my boyfriend - "

"Zayn, you told him you'd bring him."

"I never said that okay - he brought it up too - when the fuck did I say that I'd want him hanging off my arm all fucking night?"

"You told him in front of me - and mum. Said you'd love to take him, are you fucking kidding me? I thought the memory thing was going away - "

"It is," Zayn sounds panicked, and suddenly Liam feels terrible. It isn't the first time, sometimes Zayn forgets dates they plan, then brushes the incidents off by stating later that he was just too busy to come. But Liam can tell the difference from when he actually doesn't want to come - which does happen sometimes - and Liam gets subsequently stood up, to when Zayn actually forgets and his pupils get wide with surprise and shock, mouth turning downwards in disappointment.

"Fine," Doniya mutters stiffly, "then go fucking ask him."

There's a loud curse and the scraping noise of a chair being pushed back harshly. Liam scrambles to his feet, pinching the blood pooling from the cut on his finger, moving to the sink to make it less obvious that he was listening in. Trying to make it seem like he was far, far too busy to actually care what Zayn Malik of all people has to say about him.

He's just turned on the cool water, running his finger under the stream and watching the swirls of red wash down the drain, when Zayn appears behind him, breathing heavily and clearly extremely frustrated and on edge.

"Liam," he nearly spits, before taking a deep breath and steadying his voice, "Shit - I mean. You still up for the art thing next Sunday?"

Liam calmly reaches for a kitchen rag, wrapping it around his finger, pressing down firmly to stop the shaking in his hands, before he turns around to face Zayn. "'m busy next Sunday actually," he says, heart in his throat, voice clipped, "Don't think I'll be able to make it. Gonna take my dad fishing I think."

Zayn looks taken aback for a minute, hazel eyes widening, before he carefully composes himself. He shrugs then, casually, running a hand through the dark tufts of his hair, "Oh. 'kay then. Was just wondering cause you'd asked about it and all."

Liam nods slowly. He tosses the kitchen towel in the seat he'd previously been sitting in, reminding himself to wring it out with water and soap later. Zayn watches the action carefully, eyes dark and thoughtful.

"What happened to your finger?" He asks suddenly.

It's a shallow cut, doesn't really hurt that much, but it's a bleeder. Liam shrugs, "Knife slipped."

Zayn furrows his brows, looking uncomfortable, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Liam grits, "I'm fine."

Zayn leans against the door jam, something he does whenever he's nervous. It's a tick, something Liam picked up on early in the game, the same way he'll flick his lighter on and off if they're not in the house, just to give his fingers something to do. "You staying the night?" Zayn asks. He reaches out to press his cold fingertips to Liam's cheeks, cupping his chin. He smirks, but the expression is chronically off, "Could make it worth your while."

"No," Liam says hollowly, "I've gotta get home. Mum needs me to do some yard-work. She's thinking about starting up some sort of garden again, says she wants to grow some extra vegetables."

Zayn's hand falls from his face. He looks away, "Fine. Go, then. See you around."

_______

The ID chip is on the table by the time Liam pads down for breakfast the next morning.

At least it explains why Zayn was out of bed before him, his side of the bed long gone cold by the time Liam had reached for him as the sun had come up, lighting the room in soft reds.

"Morning," Zayn says. He's fiddling with the toaster and despite everything, Liam can't help but hide a smile. "Fuck you," Zayn throws over his shoulder then, catching Liam's expression, "I'll get you your toast just give me a minute, yeah."

Liam snorts, reaching for the chip. It's lying carelessly on the dining table, sitting on top of the placemat Liam usually uses. The clear plastic bag it's in, probably for protection, only it seems to reflect and highlight the dark blue veins of like engravings in the black metal. It's small, ridiculously so, not more than half an inch in diameter. Liam can pinch it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me again what exactly this does," Liam asks when Zayn turns around with a plate of toast in his hands.

"It's basically a life recorder. Was implemented that everyone got one after the war. I think most people assumed it was a spying device and we never went to recreate that myth you know - first of all because nobody would've believed us - and letting people think that was a great way to create some sort control in all that chaos." Zayn walks around the table, taking the chip from him, "I got it taken out from in you when I first brought you here," Zayn admits, "You weren't - you were hysterical for a few days. Couldn't see you like that."

Liam gently wrestles the chip back into his own grasp, boundless curiosity and fear thumping through his bloodstream, "So I just - reinsert this? And all my memories will come back? How do I do that?"

Zayn nods, takes it back from him, gently opening the bag and pulling the chip out. It looks even more delicate when exposed and Liam's suddenly terrified of snapping it half and losing it all. Zayn gives him a reassuring look before he presses down on the center, triggering a sharp silver needle to protrude from one of the sides. "Slide this," he gestures to the needle, "into your arm right below your elbow - go for soft skin. It'll automatically pull itself in under your skin - you don't have to do anything."

Liam takes it from him, fingers shaking, and positions it over his forearm, but Zayn's hands are there, stopping him quickly. "In private," Zayn tells him, averting his eyes, "You're going to be slammed with memories, may make you a little confused for a bit - come out when you think you've made some sense of them."

"Okay," Liam nods. He pushes the chip back into the plastic bag, careful not to rip anything with the needle, setting everything back on the table. He looks up at Zayn who's staring at him with worried eyes and forces himself to smile widely, "I think I was promised toast?"

Zayn laughs, reaches for the plate behind him, flips the burned parts over so they're out of sight and hands the plate to Liam, who accepts with raised eyebrows. "Next time," he tells him, "I'm doing the cooking. I can't live like this anymore, Zayn."

Zayn shrugs, turning around to rummage in the fridge for juice because this Zayn apparently hates milk. "It's the thought that counts, Liam - now eat what I've lovingly prepared for you."

The toast really is burned, terribly so, but a little jam and a side of eggs do enough to cover the bitter aftertaste.

They wash the dishes together after, Zayn hip-checking Liam into doing all the scrubbing while the lazy bastard props himself up on the counter and daintily wipes off each plate with a dishtowel.

"I'm an artist," Zayn defends when Liam complains, "I'm fragile - know nothing about hard labor."

Liam snorts, flicking soap at a sputtering Zayn, and ignoring the way the statements sets off little alarm bells in his head. It happens at seemingly random moments sometimes. Zayn had looked incredibly concerned - and incredibly guilty - when Liam had first brought the sensation up to him, so he keeps it to himself now, tucks the memories away to work through later.

When they're finished, Liam wipes his hands off carefully before reaching for the chip. He's mildly terrified, hands clammy with sweat as he heads for the stairs, barely watching where he's going, and nearly tripping up the stairs as a result.

"Liam," Zayn's voice makes him stop and when he turns, he can see Zayn wringing his hands, twisting the towel nervously in between his fingers, "You don't, like, have to do this you know. We can just - "

"Zayn."

"Yeah," he turns away, leaving Liam at a loss for words, "Go up. I'll see you soon, love, yeah."

Liam swallows and resumes taking the stairs up, this time two at a once to quickly put distance between the two of them. He knows he should probably do this alone to save them both a little more heartache, especially because there's a little part of him that truly wonders what Zayn's done to make him so terrified to face Liam with all his memories intact.

Does he not want him to remember the human version of him? Does he not want Liam to know what happened to the human version of him? Was he a terrible Higher in the past? Did he do something to hurt Liam?

Every single answer he craves is neatly packaged, recorded memories intact and whole, efficiently presented to Liam in the micro sized chip he's got in his hands. All he has to do insert it.

And suddenly, he can't breathe. Chest tightening frighteningly, no matter how deeply he lets the air flow in and out, no matter how much he tries to settle his heart rate with calming, soothing thoughts.

He drops the chip on the bedside table, turning around to pull the door open frantically, "Zayn?"

Zayn's loitering at the top of the stairs looking hesitant, afraid, and small. When he sees that Liam's opened the door, his shoulders drop in something that looks like relief and he sweeps past the few feet in the corridor to cage Liam in at the sound of his name. Liam buries his face into Zayn's neck, his scent calming and familiar now. "Zayn."

"It's okay, Liam," Zayn whispers into his hair. "You'll see; you'll be alright."

Liam lets out a sob he didn't know he was holding in, "Can you do it for me?"

Zayn pulls back and kisses him suddenly; licking into his mouth and making Liam shudder, but managing to reduce the rate at which his heart is thudding in his chest. He mumbles, pushing further into Zayn's body, twisting his fingers into his shirt to keep him close. Zayn comes easily, letting Liam do as he pleases. And nothing touches them for long moments; just the harsh rasp of Zayn's breathing and Liam's little sounds echoing through the otherwise quiet of the room.

"Yeah," Zayn says to him finally, "I'll do it for you. Don't worry."

"Stay here, okay, don't let me do this by myself."

"I won't. Promise."

_______

"Next Sunday" turns out to be a cloud of black smoke.

Liam's used to the dust, the way it chokes itself into every godforsaken crevice of his house, the way Andy's old truck doesn't run anymore because it's engine is completely clogged. He's only ever seen smoke when the occasional Artisan would choose to barbeque something out in the open. It didn't happen often, especially because meat was such a rarity, and barbequing out where everyone could see it was seen more like a flaunting of one's status than actually a preparation of food. But it did happen every once in a while, maybe every blue moon.

So smoke, Liam's seen before, but never in this way - he's never seen it rise up over the buildings, black heat clouding in tufts from the flames eating away at a whole district sector. Rovers were dropping precious water in a clear effort to contain the spread but there was too much smoke, too many flames licking at the buildings and it's all out of control very quickly. He wouldn't be surprised if his family, all the way across the sector border, were evacuated soon for the danger excessive of smoke inhalation.

Karen sends him out then to check whether their emergency siren is connected correctly and properly switched on to receive alerts. That's when Liam sees her, and his stomach swoops in terror immediately.

Doniya's running, mascara streaked from her tears, coughing, as she trips up the stairs to her house, slamming open the front door, and disappearing inside as quickly as she'd come. Liam stands frozen, watches as Tricia comes out of the house, looking lost and helpless.

He's only snapped into moving when she begins to cry.

"Tricia?" Liam yells across the street, crossing towards her in quick steps, weaving off the designated pedestrian paths to reach her as quickly as possible. Liam's always been fast, the factory setting just doesn't give him the adequate work to show it off. In another lifetime maybe.  Right now though, there's just a sinking feeling in his stomach and he just needs to get his eyes on Zayn. Just to make sure he's okay, and that he's definitely, one hundred percent not the reason why Doniya was in tears, "Tricia, what happened? Where's Zayn?"

"Liam," she breathes when he stops in front of her, "The auction building caught fire - something about some faulty wiring in their north wing. Everybody's being brought out, but they can't find Zayn anywhere. Apparently he was backstage, but all the beams have fallen and it's been nearly twenty minutes since it's all begun."

When Liam looks back on this moment, he can't quite recall the exact flow of thoughts or emotions he experienced, there's nothing in the moment beyond a blinding sense of panic, for the need to hold Zayn, healthy and whole. "I - I'm going to go find him," he nods, squirming out of Tricia's grasp and ignoring her warnings not to do anything stupid, "I'll bring him back safe, I promise, Tricia. Just let me go get him, he's completely alright, you'll see."

"Liam -"

But Liam's gone, headed towards the end of his district sector, cutting across the public lawns to where there's a loud commotion, shiny fire trucks, men and women both in and out of uniform, running and screaming, the water from the rovers soaking through his thin shirt.

It's almost like rain, Liam thinks hysterically.

There are people still staggering out of a burning building, nicely dressed people, who were clearly attending the auction. There are four makeshift emergency tents being set up, but there don't seem to be many serious injuries, and Zayn's nowhere to be seen among any of them. Liam moves swiftly towards the still alight building, eyes and throat burning immediately from the smoke and searing heat.

A young woman in a fireproof uniform blocks his dazed path, "I'm sorry honey, but we can't let you any further. It's not safe to get much closer than this."

Liam looks at her ashen face, the way soot is smeared across her forehead, hair stuck to her skin with sweat, "You don't understand," he tries to reason over the deafening sirens, "Zayn's still - "

"Zayn's on his way out or already out here," she says firmly, voice nearly drowned from an incoming wave of ringing bells. "We're working to make sure everybody gets out, honey, I promise you. I just can't let you go in there right now."

"Maybe you've seen him," Liam tries to make his voice as reasonable and less panic crazed as possible, "Dark hair, lanky - "

"Sweetheart," she says gently, running a soothing hand down Liam's back, rubbing gentle circles, "I've seen hundreds of people today, I'm sure he's around. Just keep a safe distance and wait okay."

It's a slap in the face, but Liam knows there's no getting through her or the caution tape manned by more firefighters ahead. He falls back, allowing her to answer a call about back up fire engines being deployed.

Liam swallows, and waits.

Surprisingly, it's not a particularly long one. The workers on scene are extremely efficient and the building is declared clear not fifteen minutes later. Liam's carefully documented every person dragged out of the fire and not one of them have even remotely resembled Zayn in any way.

He goes to speak to a firefighter, maybe one of them has a list of names he's supposed to check for or maybe he brought Zayn out before Liam had even got here and he was receiving attention somewhere else or maybe -

"Excuse me," Liam says to one of the exhausted looking men on scene when -

"Liam?"

Liam turns so fast, he feels his neck crack loudly and painfully at the action. "Zayn - where - ?" And then he sees him, among the last of the crowd pulled out of the building. He's being hauled into the streets, away from the doorway where large, wooden beams and glass have begun to collapse in loud, deafening cracks.

It's all so much, the blazing heat, the whirring of the rovers, the thick smoke, that Liam doesn't see it coming until it's too late. The newly deployed, back up fire trucks are just backing into the road when Zayn decides to escape the grip of the woman holding him and dart across the street towards Liam.

Liam screams nonsensically, and it's enough to get Zayn's attention, but horrifyingly, Zayn pauses - stops in the middle of the street - when he hears the words, confusion passing over his face as a shadow overtakes his small frame.

And by then, it's all over.

The last Liam sees of Zayn Malik is a smear of blood on the pavement, his body almost unidentifiable in the aftermath.

_______

Liam's tucked into bed for nearly thirty-six hours, the only sensations he recalls is the steady stroking of Zayn's hand through his hair, his warm breath on his neck, and his hushed, soothing words pressed to his eardrums.

When he finally comes to consciousness, he hurts from his fingertips to the base of his teeth, nerve endings on fire from agony and grief. He presses his palms to Zayn's cheeks, wild eyes flying between both of his. "You're okay," his voice is hoarse, relieved at the sight of a whole Zayn before him, "Please tell me you're okay."

"Liam," Zayn says gently. He sounds resigned, "I'm not really Zayn, Liam. Remember?"

"I don't understand," Liam whispers. Zayn's hands are smoothing up and down his back, but his heart's still thudding loudly in his chest, "What happened? I thought - I mean. Higher occupy dead bodies and Zayn wasn't dead. I mean - not for. For most of when I knew him. Why were you there? Why were you in him?"

Zayn sighs and somehow Liam feels dirty being in the same bed as him, "The Malik's were relocations," he swallows, "We don't tell you what everything means, Li, relocation's not just moving people from one sector to another to keep a better eye on them. It's - they're people who've caused problems in our government, people that are hard to control. Like Yaser Malik. The idea that his son might have been as radical as he was in the war wasn't that far-fetched."

Liam opens his mouth in shock, but the dread's already settling into his bones, "Who was I with then?"

At this Zayn finally hesitates, the question clearly not something he's comfortable with answering. But Liam already knows the answer - knows the way Zayn used to act sometimes, ushering him out as soon as he'd fucked him, cold and distant around Liam's family, insisting that Liam was a mate. Although there were other times, where Liam was sure everyone left on their dusty, ravaged planet could see that Zayn was in love with him. He'd never known what to do with the two, nearly opposite, sides he'd seen - hadn't been around Zayn long enough to ever figure it all out or even make sense of Zayn's split personalities.

"Never mind," he shakes his head, "I think I know."

There's a long silence between them before Zayn gently prompts him again, "Do you want me to tell you the rest?"

"Think I've worked the rest out myself thanks." Liam can't meet his eyes, staring at the threads running through the duvet he's tucked under, "Zayn was fighting back - explained the memory losses. When he disappeared off  all those days to "get it checked" it was to Higher doctors - and you were just using him as a means to an end," he feels choked, "Was it just Zayn or - Tricia and Doniya - the little ones - "

"It was all of them," Zayn admits quietly, "The whole family. Yaser was a general - a leader position, deeply religious. They were war criminals, but we didn't want to kill more of you, you know."

"He died anyway," Liam grits, furious, "He died because of you - which one of you was fighting for control when he hesitated? Tell me that much, Zayn; you owe me. You owe it to me to tell me the truth now."

Zayn curls up very small, and for a single heartbeat, Liam feels terrible for him. Zayn looks like everything he's ever loved, though he's still not sure whom he loved - one, the other, both. "It was me," he whispers, "He was the only one in the family that fought back - the others took only about a week -"

Liam feels sick.

"I was the reason he got hit," Zayn continues, words soft, quiet, and devastatingly piercing, "There was enough time for him to get out of the way, I realize that, but sometimes in moments of panic it's easier to seize control, and I was so tired of fighting, so I just - "

"So he would've been gone either way," Liam muses. He shoves back, ignoring Zayn's steadying arm, as he stumbles out of bed on steady knees. "In the end it wouldn't have even mattered," he snarls.

"Liam," Zayn whispers, and Liam can't even bring himself to turn around and look at him, "I'm so sorry, Liam. I didn't - I was following orders. You. I was the one in the fast food joint, though. I was the one that - "

Liam pauses, hand on the doorknob. "That what, Zayn?" his voice is deathly quiet.

"That loves you." Zayn finishes, and it sounds lame to every ear that could've possibly heard it.

He takes a shuddering breath before turning around to face Zayn. And it hurts because he still looks the same, still has the same wide, dark eyes framed with those incredible lashes, and that hair, the slope of his nose and the sharp cheekbones, the plush set of his mouth - it's all there, but it's not.

"He didn't deserve that," Liam says, fingers clenched tightly at his sides, "Nobody does. Nobody."

Zayn goes to stand, but he trips, getting caught up in the sheets, banging loudly into the headboard and wincing. Liam flinches despite himself. "You think I don't know that? Of course he didn't - he was a kid - they were innocent people. We punished them for something they didn't even do and I know that, okay? And I'll probably never stop being guilty about it - I'm going to remember this for the rest of my goddamned life. I'll never stop apologizing for what I did, but - but I'm not sorry for meeting you Liam, you're the brightest person I know and - "

"Please stop," Liam begs. Zayn stops talking immediately, mouth snapping shut, reeling and looking as though he'd just been slapped. "I can't listen to this anymore - I. I need to leave."

"Liam - please - "

He pulls the bedroom door shut with a soft click behind him, leaning against it for a brief moment, tipping his head back against the cool wood, pressing his palms tightly against his eyes. He can hear Zayn from here, the soft, sad noises that sound like they're being torn from his body traveling through the thin wood, muffled but still startlingly clear - and Liam. Liam feels awful.

As he pads down the staircase, all he can see is the blue curtains that flutter gracefully in the light breeze, the white, clean, minimalistic decor, the dark wood - it's all him. An exact replica of Zayn's home - upstairs, the exact bed Liam slept in with Zayn. Cutting vegetables for Tricia on the dining room table -

He needs to leave, to put distance between himself and the lovely, heartbreaking boy sitting in bed upstairs, waiting for him to come back.

He's out the front door in a few seconds, running towards a set of rusted steps, hoping against hope that Zayn hadn't managed to perfectly duplicate every detail of his house as well.

_______

The note arrives two days after Liam's shut himself up in the house. Luckily, as Liam had discovered, the house isn't the same - all the furniture is in place and the walls are painted the same stale, light blue, but it's missing all the life created by racing Ruth to put up cloth over the window screens at the first sign of rising dust, his mother's humming from the kitchen, the crackling of the old radio, the thrumming of the corner fan that his mother had bought when the one on their ceiling had stopped working.

Not that it's of much consequence to Liam when he feels this low, all he's done in the past forty-eight hours is hide under the old afghan he used to wrap Zayn in back when he used to spend the night - whichever Zayn that was. (Though he's certain he knows exactly which Zayn had cared enough to stay).

It's a handwritten little thing, the same slanted letters and words sloping across the page, and Liam can almost see it - the way he'd bite his tongue and furrow his brows in concentration, making sure every word or line he puts out is his very best work.

I'm sorry, it reads, I never meant for all this to happen. I just wanted to make you happy and clearly I've achieved exactly the opposite.

I've put in a request for body change. You'll never have to see me in his body - or ever again. Your parents, sisters, Zayn's family, and all the sectors are being evacuated one by one. They're headed to a temporary space station orbiting Titan before we can build a planet for them. Too much dust, remember - I was really telling the truth about that, not just trying to keep you here with me. I've never lied to you, Liam. I just want you to know that before it's all too late.

Anyway, I'll have Harry drop you off to your family, he's a nice lad, and I promise he's never done anything like me before - Niall's nice too. Likes to golf. Maybe you'll grow to like them, finally make some real friends.

I'd hope you miss me, but I know better. And I think I've caused you enough pain for a lifetime. I'll leave you alone now.

I love you and I'm sorry again.

 - Z x.

Liam folds the paper in half with shaking fingers, tucks it into his back pocket, and for the first time since everything's happened, he just cries.

_______

"He hates me," Liam whispers at last. It's a dark night, none of the lights are working because of the electricity cuts, and his mum's taken to knitting by the candlelight instead. The Higher have never stopped Karen Payne from doing exactly as she wants.

Karen looks up, brows furrowed, "Who hates you, sweetheart?"

"Zayn," Liam says, and the name twists a knife in his stomach. He feels sick, "I don't even know what I did wrong - but he never even wants to be around me. Never wants to tell people we're dating. He won't tell me anything - just avoids me." He swallows, bottom lip trembling, "He hates me."

Karen sighs, and opens her arms. Liam understands the gesture immediately, scooting across the couch and curling into her grip. "That's not true, Liam," she whispers, "I've seen the way that boy looks at you, and trust me when I say that he'd never want to hurt you."

Liam shakes his head, eyes burning, "That's only sometimes, though - most of the time he acts like I don't even exist. I just don't understand why he treats me like that. I mean he makes me so, so happy and sometimes he tells me loves me, and then he won't get near me again for weeks on end."

Karen rubs soothing circles over his shoulders, "Sometimes people have a funny way of showing us they love us, you'll see Liam, it'll all be okay. I'm here aren't I? You always have me - and I'm sure Zayn will come around."

"You think so?" He feels small, young and afraid and foolish.

"I know so," Karen mutters into his hair. She laughs lightly then, "Not going to lie, that boy is a coward and an occasional liar, but Tricia and me can both see it - he'd do anything for you if it came to it. Trust me."

"Okay."

_______

Liam spends nearly an entire week thinking about it all, pressing down on his temples and forcing himself to focus on something other than what feels sickeningly like betrayal. It takes the entirety of the two initial days for the blinding hurt to subside and for Liam to realize that his feelings, while important, aren't the only set of emotions that should be factored into the situation.

There's no doubt that the Zayn back in the house cares for him, it's obvious and evident, and if he'd really wanted to hide all of this from Liam, it's startlingly clear that he could have. He could've just spun some story where he was never at fault for what happened to Zayn, could've told Liam that Zayn was already dead when he'd found the body - literally anything other than bring the chip back into Liam's hands and have him recall every agonizing detail that Zayn had probably poured over for months in his head, alone at every corner.

It's a humbling thought, and it quiets the pumping of angry blood in his veins.

And the thing is, it'd all be so easy - to just forget. Here was a Zayn that promised to love him no matter what. There'd be no more uncertainties, no more confusing signals, no more hurt feelings. This other Zayn was willing to do everything for him that Zayn had never even thought about doing. His feelings would be important, valued, and he wouldn't be just another pass of time.

But at the same time, that boy in the house isn't Zayn. And that's not something Liam can forget, something Liam can't let himself ever forget.

Basically he doesn't know what he wants - only understands that what Zayn had suggested in the letter is so, so wrong. Liam can't let that happen, can't let this wonderful man that he's half in love with and half despises just up and leave - he's not sure if could handle that.

The walk back to the house seems much shorter than the run away from it. It's a beautiful road, Liam thinks, especially with the dust and dirt missing. He could grow to like it here with time.

"Zayn?"

Zayn looks up from his breakfast but he doesn't look shocked, just tired. There are dark purple bruises under his eyes, the skin worn like he hasn't slept in days. He's seated at the dining table, fingers clenched around his fork so hard Liam can see where his knuckles have turned white.

"Heard you coming," he says hoarsely, clearing his throat, "Need something? Harry's leaving in three days by the way, taking Niall to visit his family or something. Said you're welcome to join them."

The look on his face makes Liam hate himself a little.  He drops his shoulders, eyes filling with tears, "No, Zayn, c'mere. Christ, c'mere."

And the shock that was missing from his expression previously fills his face as he struggles out of his chair, tripping on the table leg, as Liam catches him, wrapping himself around Zayn's shaking frame tightly.

"I'm sorry," Zayn says for the thousandth time and Liam swallows, the image of Zayn's bloodied frame flashing in his mind briefly, but there are stronger memories - like Zayn's soft eyes whenever he watched Liam undress, his fingers dancing cleverly along Liam's spine and leaving marks for days, the afternoons Liam's spent watching Zayn's delicate hands gripping a paintbrush, watercolor smearing beautifully across the paper -

"No, Zayn," Liam shakes his head, "This is - it's what my mum would say as being out of our hands - it's. I shouldn't have said those things to you, I know you're trying to protect me, I know you weren't - you weren't hurting Zayn in any way - "

"Liam, do you even understand what I did?"

Liam laughs wetly, burying his face in Zayn's neck, "You don't have a cruel bone in your body - I know you. Sorry I acted like I didn't."

Zayn goes silent for a moment, then brings Liam's hand down to the place below his elbow. There's a hard lump there, one that resembles the way Liam's own forearm feels after he'd reinserted the chip. "I never took it out," Zayn says quietly, "It's protocol and all, I know, but I didn't take it out - I'm as much him as I am me. I didn't mean to hurt him, I never would've hurt someone you cared about, it was an accident - "

"Zayn," Liam says quietly, and it's like he's taken a breath of fresh air, "I love you and your sisters and your mum. It's not ideal, but it is what it is. Like. You're still you, I think - a little different, yeah, but not bad. I'm just sorry for the way it had to happened."

Zayn's quiet, voice barely audible, "I don't want to make it seem like I'm trying to take his place or something, Liam."

"You're not him," Liam replies firmly, "You never will be - and you don't have to be, Zayn. I think I could always tell you two apart, even before I knew, I knew. Just. Let me mourn him, but it's not." He kisses the Zayn's forehead softly, "You're not the reason he's dead, Zayn."

It's a funny sentence to say, he thinks absentmindedly, one that he didn't think he would ever say.

"You think so?"

A memory nagging, him saying those exact same words, seeking desperate approval and reassurance.

"I know so."

Zayn nods, and though he still looks hesitant, like Liam might take all his words back in an instant and laugh in his face, he leans up to press a kiss to the underside of Liam's chin. "I um - should I take back my request for a change then?"

Liam holds him close, "Please," he tells him. "I - I'm not ready to completely forgive you, yeah. Like I'm still angry and I miss him so fucking much sometimes. But you can't leave. You can't go - I can't watch you go and never see you again, because I love you." Liam shakes his head, nuzzling into Zayn's temple, "I mean if that makes any sense at all."

"It does," Zayn assures him, "Just let me know when you're ready."

_______

It doesn't happen in a week, a month, or even in a year. It's a long, slow process where Liam has to learn to untangle the Zayn in front of him and the one he used to know from his mind, place them as different people and learn to appreciate them differently.

This Zayn is softer, less sharp smirks and more sweet smiles, less angry spray painting and more subdued watercolor, the scent of cigarette smoke doesn't cling to his body, but he still has a penchant for tattoos, comes down with a new one every few months, looking thrilled to show Liam. He's a steady presence in his life, likes to make Liam breakfast in bed and watch superhero movies in his boxers at midnight.

When they visit the space station, Tricia and the Malik girls are thrilled to see Zayn. Liam thought he'd see them differently after it all, but Wahliya's still as sweet as ever, shy and quiet, and Safaa's still a bubbling source of energy. They jump to greet him as soon as he walks in the door, arms wrapping tightly around his waist as Tricia fulfills her self-designated role of being a feeder.

Doniya's the only one that pulls him aside, eyebrows raised as she takes him in, making Liam squirm under her sharp gaze, "You're not just doing this because you pity him right?"

Liam gapes, "No. No I - of course not."

She cocks her head, dark hair falling over her shoulders at the action, "He's done a lot for you, you know. He was supposed to be reassigned, but he fought to keep the body and get it recycled, thinking he might make you happy - "

"He has - "

Doniya goes on as if she hadn't heard him. "Don't waste everything he's done for you, don't hurt him. He was an absolute mess when it happened - still feels like he isn't good enough sometimes, that you still want the other one - " She cuts herself off, shaking her head, "Just. Don't string him along okay, it's all or nothing with Zayn, always has been - from that very first day."

Liam nods dumbly, but before he can come up with something to say in response, Zayn appears behind him, slinging an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair. He's smiling, eyes crinkled in happiness, "What lies is she telling you now, Liam?"

Liam laughs nervously, and Doniya gives him a cutting stare before she stalks off to help her mother in the kitchen. "Nothing," he says quickly, fitting himself into Zayn's body and inhaling his clean scent, "Was just talking about Wahli's apparent boyfriend."

Zayn laughs, kisses his forehead, "Don't let her scare you. She's just a bit overprotective."

"She doesn't scare me," Liam insists, pouting, slightly offended and insulted. He has half a foot and fifty pounds on her - Doniya's tiny.

Zayn snorts, "She scares everyone," he waggles his eyebrows, "Should've seen the last boy she brought back here run. Couldn't get away fast enough - "

"Zayn!"

They both cackle as Doniya's voice carries from the doorway. "I didn't say anything," Zayn insists back just as loudly, fond and open.

They're a family, Liam realizes then - not realizes actually, maybe just reminded.

Zayn must notice his expression because he cocks his head - just like Doniya, not that Zayn would ever admit it - "Something wrong, Li?"

"No," Liam shakes his head, biting down on his lip to contain his smile. He reaches up and thumbs at Zayn's lower lip, "Nothing's wrong. Just remembered that my mum wants you for dinner tomorrow night. She's really excited - Ruth and Nic are gonna take the piss."

Zayn kisses him, pinching at his sides and refusing to let go even when Liam tries to squirm out his grasp, "I'll be there," he says, smirking - it makes him look so much like Zayn that it takes Liam's breath away for a second, "If you promise to spend the night."

Liam swallows, punches his arm, "I fucking live with you - let my mum have me for a couple days."

Zayn squeezes him tightly as they head back towards the den, "Absolutely not."

_______

In the end it's the little things that really do Liam in and not necessarily the similarities.

In the beginning, they're both guilty of something, Zayn for his own reasons, and Liam for constantly comparing, trying to find what he'd left behind in this new future, letting Zayn fall into the trap of constantly trying to be someone he's not. It fails miserably at first, explosive fights based purely on emotion as to why Zayn doesn't like to eat this anymore, or do that anymore.

It's not fair to either of them, and while Liam doesn't think he's ever going to forget the hardness that Zayn used to have, it becomes apparent that he has to let it go, both for Zayn's sake and his own sanity.

Coming to that resolution, surprisingly is what brings back the semblance of normality into their lives.

Zayn's a terrible, terrible cook, and Liam tries hard not to think of what the other Zayn's cooking would've been like. Neither of the two versions can swim, but this Zayn builds a beautiful pool outside in which Liam teaches him (see: attempts to). They're definitely alike, especially since the looks are carbon copied, but it's starts to become less about that.

Liam likes the way Zayn always tries - likes to surprise him with visits to Harry and Niall's golf course, likes his laughter in the morning while he fights with the toaster, likes the way his skin flushes under Liam's hands warm and buttery soft, the same ink smeared across his chest and arms, though there are new pieces added now.

It's funny because Liam knows that he was already in love with Zayn, but it feels like falling all over again, and while there are dark moments where Liam aches with how much he misses the other, he's okay in a way he never thought he would be.

"Good?" Zayn asks him one day. They're washing dishes again, and it's probably been the best meal Zayn's ever made for the two of them. Probably because it was ethnic food, Zayn insists - something about being closest to one's roots.

Somehow though, Liam doesn't think he's talking about the food.

"Happy," Liam says back simply, drawing Zayn in with a wet arm because Zayn still never wants to scrub.

Zayn nuzzles into his side, laughing, "Wasn't what I asked, but good to know."

Liam smiles at him fondly, chest panging in the way that it sometimes does - when Zayn smiles or smirks in that exact way. He doesn't think that's ever going to go away though, "Are - are you? Happy?"

There's a long silence.

"Yeah," Zayn says at last, "I'm happy, I'm me. I know sometimes you look at me and think - "

"No, Zayn," Liam's mouth is dry, "I mean - I do. But it's. It's time to put it to rest. I'm always going to remember him, but it's over." He rubs his arm up and down Zayn's back, stopping to tenderly cup his neck, "I'm ready to be with you - I love you. I may love him too, but I promise it doesn't mean that I love you any less."

Zayn's mouth curves up into a brilliant smile, punching the air out of Liam's lungs with how beautiful he is, "Yeah?" he says again.

"Promise." Liam nudges him, "And I'll love you more if you actually help with the dishes for once."

"Fucking tosser."

And that's that.

_______