°• 𝙰𝙻𝙱𝚄𝙼 𝙰𝚁𝚃 •°[ 𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 ]

We'll be Alright 💚💛

Six Years Later

Zayn walked briskly into the lobby of his apartment building, shoulders hunched and head bowed, doing his best to stay unnoticed. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up over a black cap, a mask covering the lower half of his face. It was barely 5 a.m., and yet the cameras outside had still been waiting—red lights blinking, lenses snapping. Sometimes it felt like they never left, like a part of their lives was always on display no matter how much they tried to shield it.

But Zayn had learned not to let it get to him, not anymore. He gave Mark, the doorman, a tired but grateful smile. Mark had been working the night shift since they'd moved in and had, on more than one occasion, helped sneak them in through service entrances or covered for them when the paparazzi got too aggressive.

"Morning, Mr. Malik," Mark greeted, his voice low and kind.

Zayn nodded. "Thanks, man."

He made his way toward the elevator, the familiar hum and click of the doors opening reminding him how much this place already felt like home. Their home. The top floor penthouse was quiet, private, and filled with sunlight during the day—it was a far cry from either of their previous places. They'd moved in six months ago, just after their wedding and, well... after the second break-in at Harry's old house had finally pushed them into doing something drastic.

They'd sold both their places and bought somewhere new. Together. A fresh chapter. A clean slate.

They'd wanted to build something that belonged to both of them, not a hand-me-down from their old lives. This place was full of new memories. The first Thanksgiving they hosted. The disaster of a housewarming party. Quiet Sunday mornings. Messy art projects. Laughter. So much laughter.

And now, the softest and most beautiful change of all: Caroline.

She'd entered their world just two months ago, after a long and exhausting process of paperwork, social worker visits, background checks, and more paperwork. Harry had first met her while on a charity visit to Jamaica during one of his international campaigns. Zayn remembered the call—Harry's voice trembling slightly with something tender and breathless, like he'd just seen a sunrise he didn't want to forget.

"I met this little girl today," Harry had said. "Her name's Caroline. She looked at me like she knew me. Like... really knew me."

And that was it. The beginning of everything.

It had taken months, but when they finally brought her home—when she walked through the doors with her tiny suitcase and her even tinier shoes—it was like the air shifted. Like the walls themselves softened to make room for her.

She had Harry's cheeky grin, Zayn's expressive eyebrows, and an energy that filled the room the moment she stepped into it. She was loud and silly and smart. She hummed constantly—off-key, sure, but Zayn had caught her matching Harry's pitch more than once. She already knew the lyrics to three of Harry's songs, even if she couldn't pronounce all the words.

And just like her dad, she was obsessed with fruit. Especially bananas.

Which was why Zayn had layered up in the middle of the night and walked three blocks in the cold to the nearest 24-hour market just to buy a bunch. She'd woken up from a nightmare, crying and frightened, and had crawled into their bed in the dark, sandwiched herself between them, and fallen asleep again. But a few minutes later—eyes wide, hair a tangled halo around her face—she'd asked for bananas.

Of course she had.

Zayn couldn't say no. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when her voice cracked on the word like it was the only thing that might make the bad dream go away.

He stepped quietly into the apartment, gently shutting the front door behind him. The stillness of early morning blanketed the space like fog. The city beyond their windows was just starting to stir, but inside, it was warm, calm, theirs.

The bananas were tucked under one arm, and as he padded through the hall barefoot, he felt the fatigue settle into his bones. But it was a good kind of tired. The kind that came from love, from giving, from belonging somewhere so completely it didn't feel like effort.

When he reached the living room, the sight waiting for him made his chest ache in the best way.

The television was off, but its faint blue glow still lingered. On the couch, tangled under a soft throw blanket, were Harry and Caroline. She was nestled into her dad's side, one small arm draped across his chest, her curls a riot of dark silk against his pale t-shirt. Harry's hand rested gently in her hair, his other arm protectively wrapped around her back. They were both fast asleep.

Zayn smiled to himself and set the bananas down carefully on the kitchen counter.

He walked over quietly and sat beside them, slowly easing onto the cushions so as not to wake her. Caroline shifted a little, murmured something incoherent, and then settled back into Harry's chest. Zayn turned to face them, careful not to disturb the little body between them, and gently stretched out.

Harry stirred slightly, eyes still closed, and instinctively reached out, looping his arm around Zayn's waist. It was muscle memory by now. Without even looking, he knew where Zayn was. He always did.

Zayn exhaled, letting the last of the night's tension drain out of him. His head rested lightly against Harry's shoulder, his hand brushing against Caroline's foot beneath the blanket. She was so small, still growing into herself. And yet, already, she had taken up all the room in his heart.

Harry's hand tightened slightly around his waist, as if sensing his thoughts.

"Bananas?" Harry murmured, voice thick with sleep.

"Got them," Zayn whispered back. "Don't ask me how."

Harry smiled, eyes still shut. "Hero."

Zayn chuckled softly, then closed his eyes.

The three of them lay there, cocooned in warmth, pressed together in their little nest of love and softness and sleep. The world could wait. The cameras could blink. The headlines could spin.

Right now, this was what mattered. Their daughter. Their home. Their quiet little morning at the start of a life they'd fought hard to build. Zayn drifted off with Harry's arm around him, Caroline breathing steady against their chests, and a slow, satisfied smile on his lips.

It felt amazing to be married.

But even more than that—it felt like finally, finally, they were exactly where they were meant to be.