Echo Of Us • Zarry

G 6

The weather is brilliant the next day. Even if the slopes are a bit crowded, the snow is great and the sun isn't too horrible. With sunglasses, it's more than doable.

Harry lost track of Charles about twenty minutes ago, when he claimed that he's going to get some tea at the chalet by the track. Knowing him, he's probably already drinking bourbon with one of his friends which all seem to congregate in the same place at all times. Harry wonders if it's something cult-ish. Or maybe not, since he got a text from Kendall early in the morning saying she's there as well. They agreed that they're gonna meet up later today, but they're gonna call each other first.

It's around midday when Harry's leisurely skiing down from the highest placed track, looking around to see if he spots Charles but everyone's nearly identical and Harry can't remember if Chuck was wearing the black outfit with white gloves or with red gloves. He should've put a bloody tiny flag on a pole because it's impossible here. But as Harry goes down, he doesn't find Charles, he finds Kendall. She's nearby the chalet with the café that adjoins onto the track through a short passage, quite close to it already as she stands there without a helmet typing something on her phone. She's probably taking pics for the whole Instagram influencing thing. Harry tries waving at her, but she doesn't see him so he decides to ski down to her.

Harry's quite nearby when he halts so forcefully he nearly fucking falls on his face because Kendall isn't alone. Harry didn't recognize the woman and the small kid walking her way, and Kendall didn't seem to notice them. But now that he's closer, he sees that it's none other than fucking Gigi with her daughter. That can only mean one thing if she's here with the baby too. Zayn is probably somewhere nearby.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Harry curses and tries to scurry away. "Shitting hell."

Naturally, Harry runs. Or rather, he skis down the slope at a speed that would be fit for a competitive rider and not someone who skis for three days biannually, usually while a bit tipsy or hungover. But first, he moves himself as far on the track as he can from them, nearly takes down two teenagers going down because he keeps turning around to see if anyone out of that party noticed him. Just before Kendall and co. are out of Harry's eyeshot, they're joined by two men and it's decided, Harry's sliding down the slope at the speed of a landslide. He might text Stevie about it if he survives the journey, so she can write Landslide 2.0. What could she sing? Two men falling in love, too blind to realize, too fucking stupid to deal with their issues in a healthy manner. Something along those lines.

And it's not a landslide that brings Harry down, it's his own fucking skis. He only realizes that he's falling when he feels pain in his left wrist after his hands impacted the snow in an attempt to save his face. Once he's down, Harry takes a few seconds to breathe. He closes his eyes, not moving, trying to locate any worrying amount of pain.

"Est-ce que tu vas bien?"

Harry looks up to see an older lady leaning over him, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair. "Oui, je suis- je vais bien," he manages to piece together. "Merci."

He doesn't wait for a reply from her and quickly gets back to his feet, skiing away as quickly as he can. The olympian in him comes out again and he gets to the bottom of the slope probably in record time, quickly takes off his skis and power walks to Charles' cabin. Harry would genuinely run but it's impossible, given what he's wearing and also carrying a pair of skis.

When he finally gets to the cabin, Harry's panting and thinks his lungs might be in his throat. He throws the skis down in the entryway and leaves a trail of clothes behind him. As he plops down on the couch, he pulls out his phone. Only then does he notice the uncomfortable pain in his left wrist but when he tries to move it, he can so most likely, there aren't any broken bones.