Liam's lips lingered in a long-lasting moment of hesitancy, before he slowly pulled away from the man so near to him. His mouth was warm, tongue still tasting the salty vehemence of his actions. In that perfect crack of seemingly-frozen time, his mind had undergone a quick transition from chaos and disorder to peace and halcyon.

It was back to chaos.

Without the sweet bliss of the olive-skinned man's lips, Liam returned to the pounding discord that hammered throughout his mind. It rang in his thoughts as a shattering reminder of his failure to stay isolated, bringing with it broken reasoning.

Fool.

His knees trembled.

Idiot.

His legs began to sink.

Simpleton.

His body dropped to the floor.

Arms hung beside him, swaying and shuddering in cadency as Zayn kneeled to the ground.

Zayn, the man who had ruined everything, the cause of all his problems. The reason his ankle throbbed, the reason his mental well-being suffered. He had come into Liam's life and crushed his walls of seclusion, and he could do nothing now but watch them fall. Piece by piece he felt them torn away; flung to the pits of amour where they vanished under Zayn's spell.

His emotions were malleable, and they danced to the tune of enticement that the raven-haired man sung. Zayn, who was at eye-level with the decrepit, spindly-spent scientist, wrapped his arms tightly around the figure. Liam trembled under his touch, but soon felt his affections twist and turn in the sweet melody of his breath.

Each warm, drawn-out burst of air that escaped his lips landed directly on Liam's back, and the pleasant aroma of his cologne diffused with the ventilated room. The pain in his leg slowly faded into nothingness as his mind became preoccupied with the hands that stroked his hair. Tears welled and escaped his eyes, and he buried his face in the crook of Zayn's neck.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's all right."

But all Liam could do was muffle a sob.

With each cry of sorrow, he could feel the gut-wrenching ache in his stomach gradually lose its hold over him. Water dotted Zayn's suit, a patch of the substance leaving a dark spot where Liam had rested. His head lifted away from the silky, comforting material and stared into the Bradford Native's eyes.

They instinctively—out of some congenital chart of intimacy—pressed their foreheads together, gently. Liam's eyes closed, and he was able to muster up enough resolve to speak.

"What is this?" he breathed, questioning the unfamiliar burning he felt inside.

"I've no idea," Zayn whispered back. "Do you like it?" he asked, quietly.

"I…" his voice trailed off, a mere susurration of his thoughts.

For once in his life Liam let his emotions overtake him. Without thought, without inquisition, he allowed his body to relax in the hold of another, and he enjoyed it. Never did he think a day would come where his half-naked self would rest against the floor, enveloped in strong, built arms with his heart at ease. The passionate sensations spoke to him a longing for the instant to last forever, but even through his tattered thoughts, Liam knew the truth.

Nothing lasted forever.

That didn't stop him, though, from risking everything he had built over half of his lifetime with a few, simple words.

"I like it," he answered.

"I do, too," Zayn replied, earnestly.

Their lips connected a second time, and Liam noted that it felt so much greater; so much more right, than the first. Beyond his rational cognitive process something urged him to release all barriers of separation, and he willingly complied. He melted into the powerful body that was Zayn, nestled against his chest in a cessation and peace unlike any he had felt before.

"I've never…" Liam started, failing to finish his sentence.

Zayn was silent.

"I've never let anyone in before…" he said, diffidently. It was so low, said with such soft conviction that Zayn could barely hear the small words.

"It's okay."

"I can't do it, Zayn."

"It's okay, Liam."

"I can't do it…"

"Liam, it's going to be okay."

"I…I can't…" he said, weakly.

"I'll never hurt you, I promise."

"You can't promise that…"

"Yes I can, trust me."

"Why?"

"Because I know," Zayn reassured him.

"How?"

"I just know, Liam."

He fought the urge to believe the deceiving words as his mind relapsed into past memories.

Liam sat on the edge of the worn bed, swirling his feet in small circles in the air. The light filtered in through the blinds and the orange glow of the sun projected against the chipped walls. He could see the peeling paint, the growing stains of mold in the corners.

The floor was shabby and torn, and the wooden boards splintered at the edges. His feet were dirty and scuffed, the dark of asphalt reaching up past his heels and to his ankles. His toes—which should have been soft as any other child—were calloused and rough, from roaming the streets barefoot.

He glanced across the floor; eyes trailing to an almost-empty trash can placed under the window pane. Its knitted aluminum covered the circumference in tiny nets, its bottom was rusted, and in it laid a single object. The contour of the measly, fragile rectangular object was split and tearing. The thin glass coating meant to protect the photo beneath it was cracked and fragmented, distorting the image encased within.

But broken glass was no longer needed to contort the falsified life he once lived; his parents had done a well enough job of that. And now there he was, alone and hopeless in a cruel and unforgiving world. His eyes traced the familiar outlines of the family he once had, the place he once called home.

A single, long-lost hope and a single, dead dream.

*** December 1st, 1947, Liam's Apartment ***

"Can't you skip work today?"

"No, Zayn, you know how important this job is. You have…you have no idea what we're working on. It's revolutionary."

"Liam, why do you always have to be like this?"

"Like what?"

"Every time we take one step forward, I feel like we move two steps back. We've barely made any progress in the past year and you always keep things from me."

"Then why are we still doing this?" Liam spat. "If you're not happy with this—with us—then why don't you just get out?" He said coldly, eyes full of hurt.

"Because I love you."

"No you don't. Love is just a string of chemical impulses."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous," he countered, slamming the door behind him.

Zayn sighed, cursing himself for opening his mouth. He knew that Liam was apprehensive toward their relationship; he always had been. They had moved in together after Liam had torn something in his ankle, for there was no one to take care of the unstable man except Zayn himself. But he hadn't minded. He felt something deep for Liam; something he knew would never leave him.

And after a year, it hadn't.

He was still unsure of what to call…whatever it was the two had. Was it dating? Were they partners? Boyfriends?

The pair had never discussed it before. Whenever a topic even remotely close was brought up, Liam's walls sky-rocketed and spiraled around him, closing him off from the rest of the world; even Zayn. It was a sad thing, how he tried so hard to have his love reciprocated. He lived for the moments—though beyond rare—when Liam opened up to him. He cared so much about the younger man that it hurt inside, and the ache he often felt began to blossom once more.

But somehow, as if some ambrosial, angelic being whispered it in his ear, he knew that Liam loved him. That deep, deep down inside lie a connection so resonant, so consummate, there was no possible way of denying its existence.

"If only he would say it back…" Zayn mumbled aloud, striking a flame to a cigarette. He hoped the intoxicating fumes would add a little calm to his jumbled life, some sort of order.

He slowly sank into the leather sofa, relaxing into the soft cushioning. He gazed out the window, watching the rippling waters play across its surface. He smiled for no particular reason; it was just a simple, undefined period of peace for him, despite the unruly problems he faced.

Jobs for Zayn had come and gone, usually ending in getting fired, due to his lack of submission. Though Liam was an even bigger pain in the ass when it came to taking orders, his scientific, intellectual genius kept him afloat as one of the most respected members of Rapture society. People from all around recognized him from posters they had seen plastered across walls of thrift stores and alleyways, managing to pinpoint him in even the largest of crowds.

Surprisingly, Liam had been able to handle it all quite well, hiding his irritation with ease. After all, he was a master of concealing such, as he called them, "cumbersome feelings".

He's always had a way with words, Zayn thought. He chuckled at the strange, cerebral speech patterns of the one he loved. It was always a laugh to speculate upon the conversations Liam engaged in with unknown civilians, who were never less than shocked with the quaint tones he set.

He began to reminisce on all of the comical, humorous, and even sentimental times the two shared. With Liam receiving such a large income from his line of work, dinners were often eaten at the Kashmir, or the Bistro, when it was open. The sandy-haired man always had something witty to say about the fumbling waiters and waitresses and, infrequently, would conduct himself as romantically as possible in the public eye. It was those times that Zayn treasured the most: when Liam just let himself go, and went with what he was feeling.

But those instances were less and less forthcoming, as of late.

Zayn shook the disheartening thoughts from his mind in attempts to remain optimistic. He was sure things would work themselves out; they always did.

At least, he hoped they would.

I apologize for such a long wait! Here is chapter 5, I hope everyone that reads enjoys. Reviews are motivating and feedback is always welcome, no matter how harsh.

Thank you again for reading!