Echo Of Us • Zarry

PM 2

   It's the day before Harry has to leave for tour that some of those somber words slip past his lips into the ether and most importantly, into Zayn's ears. They're lying on the couch in Zayn's living room, the fireplace lit even though it's warm enough outside that the floor-length doors leading to his backyard are open, fresh breeze slipping in and making the flames flicker. Harry's got his head on Zayn's thigh, doing nothing but staring at Zayn's face. How unfair it is that he's beautiful even from this god-awful angle?

Zayn's smoking a blunt, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling, doing nothing at all as well besides puffing on the joint, smiling down at Harry between drags and occasionally caressing Harry's face like he couldn't believe he's actually real. Soft, mellow music is playing from the record player in the corner which is supported by the noises of nightly outside. It's perfect, doing absolutely nothing with Zayn, just wasting time and being together wrapped in comfortable silence. Harry would live in this moment forever if he could.

Unfortunately, the reality's much different and perhaps uglier. There's a tour he has to go to in less than 16 hours, hotel beds that will be cold and desolate. Tabloids that have been anatomizing every single photo of him and Zayn, creating theories about what's going on behind the scenes, why won't the two of them say anything about it. And of course, fans, that are going crazy either with excitement or scepticism. Harry can already see the 'LARRY IS REAL' signs his audience will be littered with and hear girls scream 'Louis' during From the Dining Table. Those girls couldn't be further away from the truth. On top of all that, there's his mum, Nick, and a dozen of other people that are worried Harry's going to end up in pieces again, with his heart broken and eyes perpetually puffy from crying.

Harry himself is unsure what they are. Are they just friends, messing around? Is it something deeper? Can they do this for real this time around? So Harry finally says those words that have been tormenting him because the ambiguity of their relationship is killing him. Because he wants to know if Zayn will be waiting for him after they both finish touring, when there will be months of free time. Harry wants to know if he'll be alone again, flying from city to city, trying to fit in crevices of different families and friend groups, or if he'll have someone he loves to share a bed with, kiss, fuck, trust. Just to spend time with, all the other motives in the long scheme of life forgotten, and have a solid place to come back to, a home.

"What are we doing, Zayn?" Harry asks, his voice a stark distinction in the middle of soft sounds of music.

Zayn looks down at him, a small smile on his lips and he puts his hand on Harry's cheek, caressing his jawline, his cheekbone. Harry closes his eyes for a few seconds, savouring what may be the last moments of emotion between them. He indulges himself, staying like that and committing Zayn's touch into his memory so he never, ever forgets it. Not even when he's all old and wrinkly, and he barely remembers his own name.

"Do we have to be doing anything?" Zayn mumbles and with that, Harry opens his eyes. He's still smiling at Harry, no malice or resentment in his gaze. He's oblivious to what he just did, with a few simple words. Harry smiles wistfully, gives Zayn's hand a single squeeze and he gets up.

"Where are you going, Haz?" Zayn wonders, a puzzled look on his face.

Harry takes a deep breath, ignores the stinging at the corners of his eyes, the burn of his throat and forces out another smile. "Just outside for a moment. I'll be back."

He sits on a wooden bench in Zayn's backyard, the seat uncomfortable on his arse due to the lack of cushions, and he cries. He doesn't sob in fear of being too loud and Zayn going outside to investigate the noises, merely lets the salty hot tears stream over his face freely, making their way to his neck, even the neckline of his t-shirt. Harry sits there and cries, his heart aching and shattering all over again, just like he knew it would in the end. He feels as if a heavy cloak has been draped over his shoulders, heavy with his heartbreak and disappointment. Sitting on his shattered heart is a weight that reminds him of how foolish he was, thinking this could work like he wanted it to.