JULY 2015
IRVINE, CALIFORNIA

Best mates. Always.​

        Liam felt a warmth spread throughout his extremities. He loved Niall’s smile. He loved Niall’s laugh even more. A coping mechanism had recently been implemented between the two--one that Niall had initially set into motion on the same night that Liam had suffered his breakdown--and, though he originally found it very bizarre, it was now something that Liam really loved, something that he associated with his closeness to Niall: tickling.​

        It was almost guaranteed that, every time the two ended up alone together--at least lately, some sort of playful tickling would ensue between them. Liam learned that Niall’s laughter was one of the best sounds in existence: goofy and childlike, and he was quite proud of himself, now knowing his mate’s most ticklish spots--Ni’s armpits guaranteed a most brilliant response every time. He could hear the blond screaming with glee in the back of his mind, he could feel the velvety softness of his underarms ghosting on his fingertips. It took Liam a moment to realize that he was grinning rather stupidly. He closed the image and referred back to his texts. He messaged Niall:

        Zayn finally showed. We’re hanging at my place.

        Liam was almost shocked at how quickly his friend responded: Was wondering what happened. It's so late.

        Yeah. We were watching a movie.

        Oh. Hows it goin? asked Niall.

        Ok.

        Same old Zayn?

        No, actually. He kinda sucks now. Liam meant it as a joke. Sort of.

        Lol. Y?

        Says he’s mature now. Too grown up for us, apparently.

        Hahaha fuck him!

        It’s w/e. Still kinda nice to see him tho.

        I guess. Tell him hi from us? wrote Niall.

        I will.

        Ok. Lemme know how the rest of the night goes.

        K. Night.

        Night, Li. :)

        Liam put his phone away and stretched once more, letting a rather satisfying yawn escape from deep within his lungs. Upon bring his hands down, his fingers brushed against Zayn’s socked foot, and the accidental contact between them caused him to look down at his friend’s soles.

        Perhaps impulsively--almost automatically--given his most recent thoughts of Niall, Liam reached out and began to lightly run his finger up and down Zayn’s upturned right foot. The cotton sock was thick and allowed for much friction, but after a few seconds, Liam procured the intended reaction. The foot twitched, the toes curled, and Zayn pulled his leg away, withdrawing shallow breaths as he did so.

        It was at that moment that Liam decided to make an impulsive decision of his own. He wasn’t really sure what exactly inspired it--he’d been having enough trouble understanding himself across the span of the entire evening--but his rationale most likely drew justification from his newfound closeness with Niall. And so, with a strange energy, he stood up, rubbed his palms together, and made his way for the bedroom.

--------------------------------​

        Liam couldn’t lie: he was quite proud of his work, especially considering the fact that Zayn wasn’t normally a heavy sleeper. He’d successfully bound the Pakistani lad, at least halfway: belts fairly tight around his bony ankles and lower thighs. It hadn’t been easy – there were several points when Liam thought that Zayn would awaken for sure. Now, he was fairly aware that Zayn’s makeshift restraints weren’t one hundred percent inescapable, especially since his arms were still free, but, considering what he had planned, he hoped they’d be enough, at least for a little while.

        The butterflies in Liam’s stomach were fluttering up a storm. He made sure to take note of Zayn’s relaxed, sleep-induced frown one last time before beginning his assault. He didn’t care what the consequences would be; something was telling him to do this, and he was most eager to oblige.

        So, he sighed, pulled both of Zayn’s feet into his lap--the boy still lying on his side--and, without further ado, began to lightly scratch at the socked insteps. Right in the middle, gentle clawing swipes. The feet twitched and writhed, and Zayn instinctively pulled. A few seconds of his body not being able react in the way it desired was enough.

        “What the h-hell?” Zayn grumbled, eyebrows knitting together, as he raised his head and looked over at his tickler. “Liam?”

        “Sup, Zayn,” Liam said, smiling nervously. “Movie’s over.”

        “W-what are you doing?”

        “I was bored,” Liam responded indirectly, now digging his fingers into Zayn’s insteps. His right hand acted as the tickler, the left held fast to the belts around his ankles.

        “F-fuck!” Zayn struggled, twisting his body so that he was now lying on his back. He pulled again. His feet, secured, moved in sync, trying to dodge Liam’s attacking digits. “W-what the hell, Liam? So, you tied me up?!”

        "Just your legs, mate. Hope you don’t mind.” Liam was unsatisfied with Zayn’s lack of a smile. The socks would have to go. He didn’t have time to waste. He immediately curled his fingers around the hems of Zayn’s ankle socks; the pale skin was soft beneath.

        “Liam,” Zayn called out loudly, trying to pull his legs away. He finally leaned up and began to tug at the belt around his thighs. “Are you mad? The fuck you doing?”

        Liam ignored him, and began to peel the black cotton away, tickling the flesh as he did so. Zayn kicked, his feet peddling back and forth. He began to snicker and splutter, tugging against Liam’s hold.

        There we go. Liam smirked.

        “L-Liam! St-stahap! Wh-what are you--? STOP!”

        “What’s the matter, Zayn?”

        “W-what do you m-meeheeheean? You fucking t-tied me up and now you’re--! Y-you’re! STOP TOUCHING MY DAMN F-FEEHEET!”

        “Why?”

        “You’ve g-gone m-mad.”

        “No, I’m perfectly sane, I assure you,” Liam spoke softly. He had successfully stripped both feet bare, and, taking a break from the teasing, placed his palms on top of them.

        Zayn had nice feet. They were a lot less tan than the rest of his body. His toes were narrow, and they formed a smooth descending curve, in shape. He had long arches--the skin quite supple, and a little cool to the touch. Liam began to rock them up and down and shot an embarrassed grin over at Zayn, who was positively unamused.

        “Can you untie my ankles, please?” Zayn’s question sounded more like a statement, tone flat.

        “Nah.” Liam shook his head and began to tickle again. Zayn immediately bucked upward, breaths tight in his chest. He began to pull at the upper belt again, sliding down over his knees.

        “St-stop!” Zayn demanded, panting now.

        “Why?”

        “B-because I don’t like it!” he hissed.

        “Tell you what,” Liam offered, feeling rambunctious, “you last a minute without laughing, and I’ll stop and let you out.”

        “W-wha-hat?”

        “You heard me.” Liam had formed a ‘V’ with the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand. He skidded his nails up and down both of Zayn’s soles. Slowly. Repeatedly. Up. Down. Up. Down. Every time his fingertips approached Zayn’s toes, they would curl up, and as they descended toward the doughy heels, his feet would fan out and strain. Of course, this was just a warm-up.

        “Dammit, w-why…?” Zayn moaned as he fell back against the sofa again, punching his fists into the leathery seat cushion.

        “Just thought I’d have a little fun with ya, mate. Like the old days. You may be mature now, but I’m not.”

        “Fuck you,” Zayn murmured. He was really fighting it.

        “Not very nice, Zayn,” Liam scolded. He brought his left hand up and wrapped his fingers around his victim’s big toes. He peeled them back, exposing the flesh beneath and began to skitter the nails of his right hand across the vulnerable area.

        Zayn shot forward again and reached for Liam, trying to somehow inhibit his tickle attack. Unfortunately, without the ability to bend his knees and pull his feet back, he couldn’t really reach. After a few seconds of futile arm-waving and grunting, Zayn backed down again, balled up his fists and slammed his eyes shut.

        Liam paused and Zayn immediately let out a breath of grateful air. “You up for it?”

        “Liam,” Zayn gulped, “this is stupid. I’m really not in the mood.”

        “I am,” Liam argued with a shrug.

        “It’s late. I have to go,” Zayn came up with another excuse.

        “You don’t have any plans. Told me so yourself when we’d made the arrangements to meet.”

        “Please. I hate being tickled.” Finally, honesty.

        Liam knew he was telling the truth. It was why he often stayed away from tickling Zayn during concerts. Still, he played the fool: “Do you?”

        “Yes.”

        “Well, good.”

        Zayn opened his eyes and raised his head, thick eyebrows heavy on his brow. “What?”

        “I want to bug you a little,” Liam said, suddenly feeling a burning boldness bite at his heart. He began to tease slowly snake his fingers beneath Zayn’s toes again. He didn’t tickle, but he paced them there. The feet tensed up and Zayn held his breath.

        “What the hell’s your problem?” he asked.

        “One minute,” Liam reiterated, ignoring Zayn’s questions. “One minute. No laughing. I’ll let you out.”

        There was a thick silence between them. Several slow seconds slugged by. Eventually, Zayn leaned forward for a moment, tugged at Liam’s hold on his ankles, before sighing and laying back down. “Fuck this,” he growled.

        “Come on, tough guy. You got this,” Liam egged him on with a grin. Beneath the fiery courage, he definitely felt the icy flick of guilt. But, it was too late now. He’d already gotten himself into this very strange situation, and he had to go through with it.

        “One minute,” Zayn restated, as if to confirm. “Then I’m gone.”

        The little chill in Liam’s chest intensified, but, he considered himself a man of his word. “You got it.”

        “Go,” Zayn instructed, almost as if he were control now.

        “I’m not going to make this easy, arsehole,” Liam warned. He started the stopwatch on his phone and began, returning immediately to Zayn’s toes.

        The reaction was instant. Zayn’s entire body tensed up. He closed his eyes, thrust his skull into the cushiony sofa-arm behind him, and held his breath. Liam’s nails burrowed their way into the crevices between each toe.

        “Fuck,” Zayn wheezed. Liam looked over at him. His frown was sharp, but the edges of his narrow lips were threatening to curve upward. His brow had softened. He was definitely feeling it.

        “It’s only been ten seconds, mate,” Liam added insult to injury, sliding his entire left arm around both ankles to lock the soles in place.

        “Mmmmmmmmhm,” was all that Zayn answered with.

        This was definitely weird, nothing like the playful tickling that sparked to life whenever Niall and Liam would get into it. This was manipulative. This was a challenge. Liam had never tickled Zayn’s feet before. He really hadn’t tickled Zayn much in general. And now, after all this time--time without seeing Zayn at all--he’d subjected him to this? Quite the jump.

        Liam curved his fingers, knuckles forming squared angles, as he raked them down the instep of Zayn’s left foot first. He used the fingertips of his left hand to barely scratch at the outer arch of Zayn’s right foot. Both feet, now under a much more intensified assault, wrinkled up, the soles trembling. Zayn pulled harder against Liam’s hold and began to splutter.

        Liam’s eyes darted up to the phone:

        00:19.48

        C’mon, Zayn. Liam turned around--his back had been to Zayn’s face when he’d locked the ankles around his left arm--to see if he’d progressed any. Zayn was tugging at the incredibly-short mass of hair on his round head, shaking back and forth. His face could easily be compared to a balled-up tissue: wrinkles splayed outward from his tear ducts, eyes buried away in shadow. His nose had creased up like a rabbit’s and his eyebrows had curved inward, almost to convey anger. The smile on Zayn's face, however, conveyed otherwise. It had broken through his strained lips and it tied everything together beautifully. Liam had missed Zayn’s smile. The sly smirks and photogenic grins from the pictures, from the twitter posts and news articles--they had been missing something: a spark. And now, if even for a moment, it was back.

        "Gonna laugh there, Zayney?" Liam teased, nails flitting from the right instep to the left. It was starting to become difficult to keep his ankles locked in.

        "N-no! NO! NOHO!" Zayn yelped as Liam started to wildly ambush all of the sensitive flesh. His fingertips slithered their way around the wrinkling soles, like some sort of phalangic snake. They followed the creasing skin up along the outer arches and back up into the toes.

        “Okay!” Zayn cried. “Liam! Stop! Pleeeeeease!” He wasn’t laughing, but his words were musical and unstable. He was on the verge of breaking.

        “You’ve got thirty seconds,” Liam simply informed him and, it being the halfway point, he decided to take it up a notch. The belts hadn’t been the only items that he’d retrieved from his hosts’ bedroom. To defy the seconds that were cranking by, he reached down to the carpet at the base of the sofa and withdrew his secret weapon: a Revlon cushion hairbrush. Like lightning, he struck down on Zayn’s soles and the laughter erupted from his victim’s lungs like pursuing thunder, a great guffawing tempest.

        “BAAAAHHAHAHAHA, WHAT THE F-FUCK IS TH-THAHAHAHAT?!” Zayn screeched, his lyrical falsetto sparking in his heavy-hearted laughs. Well, he'd failed the challenge.

        Liam didn’t answer him, he continued to scrub away, the soft-tipped teeth nibbling at the ticklish skin. The brush was wide and flat and, as such, it served to cover much surface-area: from the balls of Zayn’s feet down the heart-shaped concave of his pale insteps to his cream-colored heels.

        “STAHAHAP! I GIVE!!” Zayn howled.

        “Didn’t even put up a good fight,” Liam snapped, feeling less satisfied than he had anticipated.

        “JUST STOP! PLEEHEEASE!”

        "No." This wasn't about fun and games anymore. This was something else. Liam grabbed Zayn’s tender toes and pulled them back again, this time raking the brush up into the soft sweet spots beneath his grape-like digits. 

        “LEEEHEEHEEUUUHUUHUUM! NOHOHOHO!”

        Liam looked back again and, despite his oxymoronic irritation, his heart swelled. Zayn had thrown his head back, jagged Adam’s Apple bobbing in his straining throat with each gushing laugh. His arms were to his sides, his hands gripping passionately onto the black leather beneath him. His mouth was a smiling maw, teeth glistening in the soft glow of the television. His eyes were still knitted shut. It was faintly reminiscent of the look he used to have when straining for his sweet high notes during their performances. Back when they were One Direction. Back when they were a family.

        Liam’s eyes fell back to the phone:

        01:04.32

        He stopped. Quickly. He released Zayn’s ankles, dropped the brush onto the floor, and scooted to the side. Zayn immediately retracted his legs, and curled up, rubbing his feet on the couch. It took a good while for his smile to his fade and for his brain to compute that the tickling had ceased. The sounds of his heavy breathing filled the quiet room. Liam sat patiently.

        “F-FUCK Y-YOU,” were the first words out of Zayn’s mouth.

        “You don’t have to keep saying that,” Liam sighed.

        “That was b-bloody awful.”

        “Yeah, well, you kinda deserved it. You failed miserably, by the way.”

        “I did not deserve that."

        "Yes, you did."

        "Why?"

        “Hmm, I wonder,” Liam shot sarcastically.

        “Enlighten me.”

        “You can’t be that dense.”

        “Apparently I am,” Zayn wheezed, finally removing the belts from his legs, first loosening the one that had slipped down to his shins, before working his way to the one at his ankles. “I mean, shit, Liam, this is how you treat me for wanting to meet up with you?”

        “Oh, well, sorry, mate,” Liam sighed. It was a half-hearted apology at best. He stood up and stretched. “Guess you better get going, then.”

        “I told you I was out after the little stunt you just pulled.”

        “Well, perfect. Works out then. I’ll see you when I see you. Nice catching up,” Liam stated blankly, now feeling strangely empty. At least he'd already accepted the fact that his emotions were on the fritz for the night. He turned to Zayn, offered him an innocent smile and quietly walked away.

        He didn’t know how long it would take him to leave.

        He didn’t listen for the door.

        He didn’t even frown.

        Not until he was safely in his guest room.

--------------------------------​

        Liam stared up in the ceiling, arms folded, head resting in his palms. It must’ve been a good ten minutes, at least, since he’d left Zayn in the front room. He had to be gone by now. He wondered if it was too late to text Niall.

        He really had no idea what he’d been thinking--this wasn’t news. What had been the point of taking advantage of Zayn, tying up his legs, tickling his feet, and then, just…walking away? What the actual fuck was wrong with him? Liam didn’t know. It was almost like he’d become someone else. He didn’t even know what he’d wanted to accomplish. Did he actually think that tickling Zayn would’ve somehow…changed something? Anything? What was there to change…?

        “Ugh,” Liam groaned and removed his hands from behind his head, slapping them onto his face. He dragged his fingers down his cheeks and almost had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Maybe Zayn was right. Maybe he was going mad.

        “So, you wanna tell me what that was about, then?” It was the second time that evening that Zayn’s voice had scared the hell out of him.

        Liam raised his head and saw Zayn standing in the doorway. “You haven’t left yet?”

        “No…”

        “Thought you would’ve been royally pissed.”

        “Well, I was,” Zayn muttered. “At first.”

        “But, you’re still here…”

        “I’m over it, I guess.”

        “Oh. Okay, then.”

        “But you’re not,” Zayn concluded, stepping into the room, dark eyes scanning him. A silence stepped between them momentarily before he brushed it aside. “Right?"

        Liam sat up, furrowing his brow. His heart started to pound away again. “What?”

        “You’re still mad at me.”

        “What…? No.”

        “C’mon, Liam.”

        “Zayn, I-I’m not.”

        “So you just wanted to make me piss myself for the fun of it?”

        Liam smirked and sighed. “As fun as that would be,” he teased, “No, I suppose not.”

        Zayn edged himself to the foot of the bed and sat down. “I was hoping that you agreeing to see me meant that you’d gotten over it, you know?”

        Liam pulled himself up and dropped his gaze immediately to the carpet. He noticed that Zayn had put his socks back on, but not his shoes.

        “No, mate,” Liam stated. He paused, a strange heat accumulating behind his eyes. “No, I don’t think I have. Not entirely.” It felt weird to say, but as soon as he had, the storm inside him seemed to calm itself…

        “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Zayn sighed.

        “It’s not about being sorry, Zayn. I know you’re sorry.”

        “Then why are you still mad?”

        Liam took a deep breath. “I don't know."

        "You don't know...?"

        "It's just..."

        "Yeah?"

        "God, I just... I miss you, you arsehole!"

        Zayn lowered his head, but he didn’t respond.

        “Seeing you again,” he continued, “It kinda just brought everything back, you know?”

        Zayn was still silent.

        “You hurt us, Zayn. You hurt me,” Liam muttered, the stinging in his eyes had also moved to the back of his throat. His lip started to quiver and he knew he was in trouble. “Right before you broke the news, I’d really been going through a rough spot. You remember? With Sophia?”

        Zayn looked up at him, brow heavy, as if he were trying to concentrate. He didn’t confirm or deny anything verbally.

        “I was also worried that something was going to happen to the group, mate. A breakup. Guess my concerns were valid, huh?”

        “Liam, I—"

        “But, look, I’m sorry, okay? For tickling you like that. I shouldn’t have done it. Guess it was, I dunno, my version of payback…”

        Zayn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he brought his hands together. He remained silent for a long time. Liam hung his head. He didn’t know what else to say. Finally, Zayn spoke up. His words were timid: “I miss you too, Li.”

        Liam turned to him. “Then what was all that about growing past us? Being too mature and whatnot?”

        Zayn sighed. “I told you I didn’t mean it like that. You're so damn sensitive. All I meant was that I’ve changed a bit. But, so have you. So have the others. I’ve seen it.”

        Liam chewed on his lip.

        “But,” Zayn continued, “why the hell do you think I reached out? ‘Course I miss you, mate. You’re like a brother to me. Always will be.”

        And, just like that, the confusion and the conflicting emotions that had been plaguing Liam all night, abated. He smiled softly. His throat was tight. His eyes tingled with the slightest hint of tears, but he held it together.

        “Just don’t wanna lose you, Zayn. Leaving is one thing. But, you just being, I dunno, done with me? I don't think I could handle that."

        Zayn looked up. His eyes withheld sadness now. Or something similar.

        "I'm not done with you, Liam. I don't think I ever will be."

        Liam nodded softly.

        “Guess I could’ve gone about things differently," Zayn added, almost as if he'd been reading Liam's mind, "but I’ll never stop caring for you guys. Hope you know that. I’m not good at always showing it, but… yeah…” He started to rub at the back of his neck and he’d grown a visible shade of pink. Liam chuckled.

        "Thanks, Zayn." Liam placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "Glad we got everything cleared up, then."

        “You know,” Zayn reiterated with a smirk, “my feet are still tingling.”

        “Sorry.” Liam grinned.

        “You always have a thing for tickling?”

        “What?”

        “I mean, you always used to tickle us. During interviews. Concerts. Harry even asked me once if I thought you had a thing for it. Harry does. A little bit.”

        “He did? He...does?” Liam felt a heat collect in his face. He really hadn’t considered the trend beforehand.

        “I mean, I don’t really care. It’s not a big deal,” Zayn assured.

        “No?”

        “Not really.”

        Liam paused, and they locked eyes. The strange fervor in his stomach bounced back, and his fingertips began to itch for Zayn’s flesh.

        “You know, maybe I do have a thing for tickling.”

        Zayn’s eyes widened.

        “And maybe”--Liam smirked--“I mean, now that we’ve gotten things cleared up, you’d like to, I dunno, indulge?”

        “What?” Zayn sounded nervous, but he couldn’t fight the smile.

        Liam pounced. He turned, as if to hug his friend--his brother--and brought him down onto the bed. His hands immediately arched up into Zayn’s armpits and the tickling recommenced.

        That night, Liam learned that he loved Zayn's laughter almost as much as Niall's.

        Almost.