One way or another

Chapter 9

When Harry opened the door to his hotel room, he was greeted by the sight of Zayn sitting at the end of the bed, his head buried in his hands. At the sound of Harry entering, he raised his head to see what was going on. And apparently, Harry and Louis weren't the only ones that looked like a mess today. Zayn's black quiff, which had been perfectly styled yesterday, was now all over the place. And unlike Harry, who truthfully looked kind of cute with his hair all untamed, Zayn mostly looked weird. Obviously, he was still maddening attractive and all that, but honestly, it would take a hell of a lot for him not to be that. He could probably survive the end of the world, climb out of a hole and still look relatively presentable. But let's just say that as far as Zayn-standards goes, he probably wouldn't take a photo of himself and post on Tumblr or anything.

With trembling hands, Harry shut the door closed, the impact of what had just happened slowly catching on more and more to the point where he could hardly breathe properly. When he turned to look at Zayn with a bewildered look on his face, he contemplated just how he would drop the bomb on him. Never quite reaching an answer, he just stood frozen by the door, staring back at Zayn. After a moment of silence, Zayn gathered enough energy to use his voice.

"Where have you been?" Zayn asked, his voice rough from sleeping.

"Uh," Harry began, almost completely lost the ability to speak. "I, uh. Downstairs."

"Okay." Zayn's voice was skeptic. "Why?"

"I dunno, I felt sick and needed some space."

"You could have woken me up, you know. It's almost three, now."

Three? Really, how long had Harry been in that bathroom?

"Oh. Well, I thought I should let you sleep in."

"Probably a good idea." Zayn fell backwards and made himself comfortable. "Never leaving this bed ever again."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Actually, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Zayn raised his head, which was laying buried in a pillow, with a slightly alarmed and anxious look on his face. "What's up?"

"Uh," Harry started to sweat. For some reason, his body was making it unreasonably difficult for him to say it out loud. He shook his head and took a deep breath. "I, uh."

Zayn was beginning to look increasingly worried, as he moved himself into a sitting position again. "You alright, Harry? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

At that, Harry slowly raised a hand to his chest and started singing dramatically in a low voice, while staring longingly out into nothing. "A ghost you say... a ghost maybe. He was just like a ghost to me. One minute there, then he was gone!"

When Harry turned his gaze back to Zayn, he had raised one eyebrow. "The fuck?"

"Have you seen Les Miserables?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Well," Harry stared down at the ground bashful, "then you wouldn't recognise it, I guess. It's from a song there."

When he looked up, Zayn was looking at him like he had gone crazy. Maybe he had. "Alright. But earth to Harry, what were you going to tell me?"

"Well. I. Uh." Harry's heart was beating exceedingly fast, and it felt like his entire body would explode, but he still couldn't make himself say it out loud. However, Zayn was beginning to get slightly annoyed.

"Jesus Christ, just spit it out! Or were you just going to talk about Les Mireables? Is this your weird way stirring the topic to musicals, so we'll end up talking about how the last scene of Grease is the best piece of cinematic genius you have ever seen, and we'll just end up discussing Louis' underappreciated singing abilities? Because if that's what you want, just fucking say it."