Ziam Ficrec - The Killing Type by protagonist_m
“Why am I always the one who finds you?” Liam asks, abrupt like the way he thought it.
Zayn’s expression, still indirect, holds a sudden effervescence that shines dark. “What makes you think you're the only one who ever finds me?”
As Liam processes the words, there's a tug of—something, in his chest, seething and hot. He rolls his wrists to dispel the tension in the sinew.
This conversation is a lot of things, intriguing and maddening, addictive in its circular flow, but it’s hardly productive. Liam snubs his fag against the wall behind him, dropping the butt.
“I've got something to get back to,” he mutters, shoulder blades taking the brunt of his weight as he pushes off the wall. “Please don't indulge your—thing, when you head back to campus.”
He's within paces of the entrance when he hears Zayn's response. “Would it bother you if I did?”
Liam wheels, agitated beyond reason. “I'm a cop, mate, so yes.” Then, when all Zayn does is smirk knowingly, “What do you want?” He realizes, belatedly, that he sounds more intrigued than annoyed. There's not much for it.
“Just to see you,” Zayn replies, eyes honey-clear. “I'm simple like that.”
Zayn is a doctoral student who goes to great lengths to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liam is heading the biggest serial murder investigation London has seen in half a century. And before this, he'd never been sent a love note via corpse.
