ten | i find i (long) for his touch more than anything

"It was like..." I keep mumbling, trying to find the words to explain the feelings that were overwhelming me, "it--"

"Stop rushing," Zayn scolds me, rubbing my shoulders as I sit on the floor of his living room, "take your time. It was a lot for five days, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I sigh, "it was. But Z, he--he isn't just a one night stand to me. You know me. If it was, I would have already dropped it and him. But this time it sticks..."

"Why do you think? Okay wait--" he stops, taking a spoonful of chocolate ice cream and shoving it down his throat before persuading me to continue, "start from the one night."

"Okay," I say, keeping my breath steady, "we went back to his vacation house, and I spent a night there. The first of many. We woke up, I gave him a blowjob--"

"Saucy," he smirks, and I roll my eyes.

"--and then he was showing me around his house. It was a really lazy day, he showed me his name mural; and we put my name up there."

"That's special, don't you think?"

"My name, amongst many?" I question him and he shrugs.

"Sounded like a dream come true until you said that."

"I wanna snap his neck Zayn," I go on to say, growing infuriated all over again, "he played with me. He led me on and let me follow this trail of his love only to be left in the middle of the forest."

"Forest references? Are you lowkey Taylor Swift?"

"Zayn!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chuckles, resting his hands on his knees, "I'm one hundred percent serious now."

"Okay," I sigh, "as I was saying, the entire trip in general was something I will never forget, and that's what I hate about it! He gave me the best fucking time of my life, and now he's gone!"

"How do you know he didn't just leave for a second?" He asks, and that reminds me; I need to show him the note. I hadn't looked at it since the night I tried to burn it (without success), but I left it in my bag. The note represents a painful reminder of the past, and that's what I need to stay aware.

"This," I say, reaching into my bag and pulling out the wretched piece of paper. I place it in his hands as his eyes widen. It gets me thinking about if he recognizes the handwriting or something on the lines of that, but he answers my question when he starts running his hands over the paper.

"I tried to burn it..." I tell him honestly, "symbolic to getting rid of him for good, you know? But I guess it didn't work out, because the paper literally did not burn."

His eyes widen to the size of saucers as he pulls out his laptop from under the couch. He pulls up a new web page and by the time he's started typing, I'm already lost.

Zayn is one of those students that's extremely smart, but doesn't put in enough effort to soar past everyone else. He's just a regular guy, with a regular life. He chooses that lifestyle freely and accepts it.

"This is made of hydroxyapatite," Zayn says curiously, running the paper against his fingers a few more times, "this is a rare material Liam."

He also majored in Chemistry and graduated with honors. I'm pretty sure that the only thing I remember about hydroxyapatite is that it's formula is Ca5(PO4)3(OH), and that I spent all my years in chemistry memorizing equations for no reason at all.

"What makes it so special?" I ask stupidly.

"It's melting point is 1100 degrees Celsius."

"Oh," I mutter, "right."

"Listen; Harry can't just be an ordinary guy in order to get his hands on this type of paper," Zayn explains, "Where did you say he works again?"

"He's a traveler," I tell him, "works in that business."

"He has to do more than that," Zayn mutters, "there's no way an ordinary man could get his hands on hydroxyapatite."

"Google him?" I suggest to Zayn, which is what I honestly should have done earlier. Instead of freaking out, crying and sobbing about him and drinking away his memory, I should have bloody googled him. So Zayn does what I should have done, typing his name into the search bar and waiting for results to come up. Once they do though, we're more than surprised to see the name end up with 0 results.

"Are you sure that's his name?" Zayn tries, and I nod my head vigorously. If I remember anything from the trip, it's his name. It's a constant echo in my mind, a shadow by now. I tell Zayn to try again, but on Bing. It's rare for Google to fail researching needs, but this time, I'm willing to trust the conspiracy that Google simply didn't know him.

But when he searches on Bing, then Yahoo, and even Ask.com, he's nowhere to be found.

"There's your first clue," he explains, "you fell in love with a ghost."

"I didn't fall in love with him," I protest, "it was a week! How is that possible?"

"There is such a thing as expressing your love too soon, but there's nothing about falling in love in general too fast," he continues, "I think that both you and Harry had that problem."

"If Harry was really in love me as he said he was," I continue, "then why is he not here?"

"Have you ever thought, that maybe, just maybe, that's why he's running?"

And I must admit, I did not think of that. Zayn happens to do that a lot; fill in the holes that I failed to fill.

"Let's go out," Zayn says, "see a movie or something? Deadpool?"

"You know I hate Deadpool," I roll my eyes, "no thank you."

"It'll get your mind off of him Li."

I sigh, rubbing my forehead as Zayn moves to coddle me. Harry Styles has taken me to a new extreme in my life, one I rarely consider;

Regret.

HARRY

"How is he?" I'm asked for the fiftieth time, and I nod in response, for the fiftieth time. I refuse to give a direct response to anything regarding him. The deed is done, and now all that's left is to forget. To forget him, forget Spain, and forget every kiss we shared; every moment we took for granted, everything that ever meant something on that trip.

It's what needs to happen, for him more than for me. If he forgets, he'll be able to live his life without another thought of me. If I forget, well, he'll just be another mistake in the book.

LIAM

"You want anything to eat before?"

Zayn and I sit in his car, driving to the movie theater. I refused at least seven times, but by the time eight came along, I had no choice but to say yes.

"Do you?" I ask Zayn, and he nods excitedly before pulling into the closest restaurant. He loves visiting restaurants whenever he can. Another one of Zayn Malik's quirks; he's a foodie.

He parks and pulls out his phone, texting a few people. I decide to check my messages, though I know I know I don't have any. Zayn is a much more popular person than me, overall. He's always got somewhere to go, somewhere to be, someone to be with, but he turns it all down to spend time with his least popular best friend; me.

Zayn is a rainbow, and I'm merely part of his array of colors. What color? I don't know...maybe blue. I quite like blue, it's my favorite color.

Nonetheless, Zayn is the social butterfly of this friendship. His life is, how do you call it, interesting. Something new happens to him almost every week; Even when his cat died, people were interested. I on the other hand? The most impactful thing (to others) that has happened to me would probably be my profession; law. And it's not like law is interesting at all in the first place.

Overall, I just want to be Zayn. To be able to have a little spunk in my life for once, would be a blessing.

"Come on," Zayn leads me with an excited grin, "let's go."

He exits the car the same time as I do, locking the door with a swift flip of his keys. Classic Zayn, always so smooth. We walk over to the modern-style restaurant and he holds the door open for me, being that he's also a perfect gentleman. Whenever Zayn and I go out, he treats me like I'm his date. I'm accustomed by now, and it doesn't bother me.

"How many?"

"Two."

"Perfect. Come this way."

The host gives us two menus, and I clutch mine for my life as Zayn takes my hand smoothly and leads me to the table. I squeeze nervously, feeling shy before all these people that probably don't give a single shit about me, let alone three. You'd think with that mentality, anxiety wouldn't exist.

"Can I start you guys off with drinks?"

I look up in surprise, seeing a waiter standing before us with a smile on his face. Fuck you, and your smile...Andrew. I read his name tag and make up my face.

"He'll have water," Zayn gives me a nod, "and...I'll have a strawberry lemonade."

"We only have raspberry."

"Not even original?" Zayn asks, contorting his face, and the waiter shrugs.

"Just raspberry."

"...I'll have water."

The waiter nods, walking away and he rolls his eyes as soon as the younger boy is out of sight, chuckling lightly.

"No regular lemonade?" he snorts, laughing louder and I shrug shyly, giving him a sideways smile. Zayn immediately frowns, folding his arms as he stares sadly at me.

"Li," he prys, "come on. You're with your best friend. Please, stop thinking about him."

And who even says I'm thinking about him? Well now I am; thanks Malik. It's all fine until someone mentions him, or he pops up in my head. Then, I spiral. Now I'm spiraling...and spiraling, and spiraling into a black hole.

"I'm just gonna..." I sigh, rubbing my forehead, "excuse me a sec, yeah?"

"Li I'm--"

"It's okay," I assure Zayn, "I just need to steady my thoughts."

He nods in defeat, and I rush from the scene quickly. Harry Harry Harry Harry. If people could see what my brain looks like right now, most would be concerned for my mental health.

I bust the door to the bathroom open, stopping at the sinks and hanging my head low.

Stop, I tell myself, stop thinking about him. He doesn't care. He's probably somewhere right now, stealing someone else's love and using it just like he did you. He isn't worth it Liam, stop letting him win.

My mind takes me back to the second night in Spain, in the night club bathroom.

"You missed one," I tell him, stepping closer to him and reaching up to button the single one in the middle of his chest. He looks down at me with a fond smile itching at the corners of his mouth.

"Why do you say you're not the guy I'm not looking for?"

"You've probably had better," I tell him, "why waste your time on me when--"

"The last time I had anything close to a lover was high school. You're my better Liam."

Better. I was his better. How could I be him better, and then nothing? Simply a contribution to the air he breathes? In and out of his lungs, serving as an infinite supply for his survival. And what do I get out of it? Tears? Heartbreak? Loneliness?

Why does the mystery always win?

"God..." I mutter, turning on the pipe and splashing the water spurting out in my face. It isn't fair, and it never will be. It's here when I realize that I might as well stop bitching about it. It's going to be like this until the day I die; the story is already written and published.

So I leave the bathroom, a sense of serenity flowing through my veins instead of the mixed emotions of rage and pain that once resided there. Instead, I sit next to Zayn, allowing him to wrap a warm loving arm around my shoulders as I lean into his embrace. He squeezes my shoulders as I smile up at him, letting him know that part of me is slowly beginning to mend. There's only one outcome from here on out; blue skies. And I need to fight to touch them.

hey, so how is it so far? we're at ten! a benchmark! share your opinions!