Omnipresence ♾ Zarry

iv.

The following night, Harry's sleep is plagued with horridly realistic nightmares. Or dreams. There weren't any monsters, no one was chasing him. It was more a daydream but its effect was that of a night terror.

Harry had been waiting for the moment when he would dream of Zayn. His sleep so far had been deep and dark, devoid of dreams. But it finally happened. It was lovely at first. Them standing in a park, the sun gently touching their skin through the trees. They were holding hands, laughing over something. It wasn't a memory, it was a fabrication of Harry's grief-stricken mind. They were happy, so fucking happy as they kissed and casually touched each other. So reminiscent of their time together, of the moments that actually happened in the real world, of love that blossomed for many years.

Then the dream turned into a nightmare. At least to Harry. He and Zayn were interrupted, snatched from their familiar intimacy. There was a child running towards them. A little boy, three years old at most. He ran up to them and they were so fucking happy, all three of them with big smiles on their faces. The boy begged Zayn to pick him up, and he did. That was the last thing Harry saw before he woke up in cold sweat and hot tears on his face - Zayn holding their son, both of them smiling at Harry brightly.

Harry's heart was racing when he woke up and he was shaking, even though the room was warm. He blinked a few times, wanting to make sure he wasn't still asleep and the nightmare wouldn't continue tormenting him. Then the tears broke free. Harry just cried. He couldn't do anything else. It seemed impossible to get out of bed and do things. He laid in bed and cried for as long as his eyes let him. And it was a damn long time.

At some point between the inconsolable crying, Harry fell asleep again. This time, it was thankfully a dreamless sleep. Once he woke up, his eyes puffy and mouth dry, it was four in the afternoon and the sun was low. It was late and Jolene came to Harry's mind. He had to feed her. Even though she had some kibble left, she needed water.

As if it wasn't his own body, but a new strange shell, Harry gathered his limbs and got out of bed at last. He didn't bother dressing up and padded downstairs in only his boxers. Jolene was nowhere to be seen, even as Harry emptied a pack of Whiskas into a bowl and refilled her water. Then he went to get himself some water too, quenching the desert he had in his mouth from crying. After drinking a full glass, he refilled it and started wandering around the lower level of the house. He found Jolene too, sleeping on the windowsill in the living room, catching the last of the day's sunshine.

For some reason, Harry's steps lead to the study next. It isn't a place he occupies often, even though Harry was the writer between the two of them. But Harry always preferred a good café or a bed for writing. Zayn's presence in the study is too evident now. The still untouched book on the desk. A funko-pop of Hulk on one of the shelves. No organization anywhere whatsoever. Harry smiles a little as he surveys the small room. He doesn't think he'll ever touch it, not for as long as he lives here probably. It's the most mundane yet powerful connection he still has to Zayn. Well, if he's not counting the child.

Harry shudders as he remembers the dream again. It physically hurts his heart to think about it, think about the life they could've had. The baby existed, on some elemental level, even when Zayn was still here, if only for eight short weeks. And they had no idea, either of them. While Zayn was still here, they didn't know they created a life together. God, there was this one night, truly late at night, when Zayn had come back from meeting a few friends from uni. Harry had been binging a new series on Netflix, not realizing it was already 2 AM when Zayn turned up. He was in their bed, lying down with his back pressed against the headboard. Zayn wasn't drunk, just tipsy enough that he was cuddly. He crawled into the bed and put his head in Harry's lap. They talked late into the night like that, about everything and nothing at the same time. Now that Harry looks at it, that moment could've been so bloody different if they had known about the baby. Maybe everything could've been different now, maybe Zayn would have still been here because their Saturdays would not have stayed the same.