Nine Lives (Zarry Fan Fiction)

Chapter 7

Zayn should stay. He wishes he was that guy. If Harry was there, he’d make everyone tea and distract them with another long-winded story, but Zayn’s instinct is to hide like an injured animal because if he sees Gemma or Anne crying, he’ll lose it and he can’t.

He can’t.

So he hides in the stairwell of the car park, chain smoking and playing with the laces on his DMs until the door swings open and Gemma tilts her head at him.

‘There you are,’ she says with a soft sigh.

‘Gem,’ he says, jumping to his feet as she walks towards him, tossing his cigarette away as though he’s been caught smoking behind the bike sheds.

She sits on the step and looks up, the skin under her eyes bruised from no sleep, and waits for him to sit next to her. When he does, she frowns at him.

‘Are you okay?’

He’s mortified. ‘Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?’

‘I’m alright. A bit dazed.’

‘Are your mum and dad alright?’

‘Yeah, they’re much calmer now we’re here.’

Zayn holds his breath and he can feel the panic building and building as he waits for her to tell him about Harry. And he wants to know – has to know – because with each passing minute what he’s imagining is getting worse and worse. But until he knows there’s hope and as long as there’s hope he won’t give into the panic that’s trying to pull him apart, bone by bone. Then she lifts her chin to look at him and his head swims as he hears the words DON’T SAY IT playing in a loop in his head.

‘Harry’s going to be okay.’

The relief is devastating and Zayn covers his face with his hands and weeps. He tries not to – to suck it back in – because Gemma is Harry’s sister and this isn’t about him, but he can’t hold it in as something in him suddenly boils over, like milk in a pan.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says into his hands between sobs.

‘Don’t you dare apologise.’

Gemma puts her arm around him and pulls him into her and they sit like that for a while, her head on his shoulder as she waits for him to calm down. When he does, Zayn wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and apologises again.

‘Don’t,’ she says, rubbing her head against his shoulder like a cat, like Harry does when he’s tired, and it almost makes him cry again. Then she takes something out of her pocket and when she holds up Harry’s Saint Christopher necklace, he does anyway.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asks with another sob, staring at it.

‘They had to take it off before he went into surgery,’ she says, waiting for him to hold out his hand then drops it into his palm. ‘I thought you’d want to hold onto it until you can give it back to him.’

‘Thank you,’ he breathes as she closes his fingers around it and curls her hand around his fist. Her hand is tiny compared to Harry’s but her fingers are cold. Cold hands, warm heart, he thinks as he feels the medal digging into his palm. And it’s almost a relief because he’s been numb with panic since Louis swept into his room this morning, so it’s the first thing he feels for hours.

‘How did you know?’ he asks.

‘He called me about five seconds after you gave it to him.’

Zayn rolls his eyes. ‘I told him not to tell anyone.’

‘I know, but don’t be too hard on him. He couldn’t keep you a secret,’ she says, resting her head on his shoulder again. ‘There are some things you can’t keep in.’

His heart trills and he can’t help but press his cheek to the top of her head. She kind of smells like Harry, like he did the day they met, of the same washing powder, and it makes him weak with guilt as he thinks of the look on Harry’s face when he walked away from him last night at Mahiki. All of a sudden it doesn’t matter – it seems so trivial, their fight, Nick, all of it – his whole world narrowing to a single point: Harry. And that’s love, he knows. It isn’t blind. He loves Harry with his eyes wide open. He knows that Harry is restless and insecure and needy, but he also knows that he’s brave and curious and kind. He’s seen it all and he loves it all and Harry’s right, he can’t take it back.

Gemma sweeps her thumb back and forth across his hand, his fist still clenched around the necklace. ‘He said you got it for him after he gave his to that girl in Ghana.’

‘It didn’t do him much good, though, did it?’ Zayn says with a sniff.

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘I’m sorry, Gem. I shouldn’t have left him.’

‘You didn’t, Zayn.’ She squeezes his hand. ‘You’re right here.’