Work Text:
2021
The universal truth about being in a band is that bands have a lifetime to them. Sometimes it’s because of money and record labels, other times its drug habits that get away from each other. If it’s neither, there’s a chance that it’s a clash of personalities to the point where members start threatening to kill each other over what should be minor differences. Or maybe it’s one member going solo, or maybe it’s just the fatigue of traveling around the world constantly. Maybe someone will have a kid eventually and want to hang up their metaphorical boots, or there’s a Yoko Ono in the picture - even if Harry thinks that particular quip is especially misogynistic. Still, there’s always something, and not even destiny can stop the eventual fallout.
Not that Harry particularly thinks One Direction was destined to be what they were, even if all the signs point to fate having it so that five different boys in five different towns all dreamt the same dream, and somehow weren’t good enough to make it on their own. Still, for a moment, they were on top of the world, and he could pretend that they would be there forever. That’s a fool’s thought, which he knows now, but it doesn’t mean he’s not surprised at how it all fizzled out. Not that it fizzled out, oh no, he knew that would happen for at least two years. No, he’s just surprised at how everything died in a whimper, and not a bang.
Of course there were fights. There were fights over Liam getting piss drunk before shows, and Harry pointing out that they have a young fanbase and they need to put some effort in, even if it doesn’t actually matter, and that they’ll cheer no matter what. That one ended up with Liam storming out annoyed at the world, but mostly at himself, and Louis turning on Harry, jabbing a finger at him before calling him a judgmental ass, which in hindsight, Harry can’t really fault. Louis and Zayn getting caught out for weed in South America went down the same path. Or it would have if Zayn, who didn’t quite look apologetic, offered up a mumbled apology, and told Harry that he’ll see him later, which ends up being a whole 48 hours later. There were fights over the direction of the music, and the problem with trying to hit something resembling a democracy with five stubborn boys who grew up to be five stubborn men. Those usually ended with Zayn storming out, saying he needed a cigarette, and Harry awkwardly following him out, always just a fraction too late. There were fights about Harry not going to the same events, and later, Zayn not going to the same events. In hindsight, Harry thinks those were more because everyone felt that they were drifting, but desperately wanted to hold on to something. There was social media, and everything just being a bit too much. For all of them, really, but maybe more so for Zayn than any of them.
“Why don’t you say something if it bothers you so much, or let Zayn know you’re on his side?” His mother had asked him once when he needed to vent about it, and Harry didn’t have an answer then.
Then, of course, was the manner of Zayn leaving, which Harry still can’t think about without shaking.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Louis says, barely containing his anger. They’re in Harry’s dressing room, and Louis is shoving a phone screen into Harry’s face. There’s an opened email, which Harry can’t read due to the screen being too close. Liam and Niall are standing behind Louis, with their arms crossed across their chest. “You knew he was going to leave.”
“I did,” Harry replies, not bothering to defend himself, or hide it. His head is still reeling from Zayn calling him at 2 A.M telling Harry that he can’t do it anymore. Harry had shouted some things, maybe a little angry and a lot betrayed, and what ultimately settled on Harry begging Zayn to take Harry with him, but nobody needs to know that part. To Louis, he says, “I knew for a few days.”
“And you didn’t think to tell us?” It’s Liam this time, not quite shouting, but still accusatory, nonetheless.
Harry shrugs. “You knew he wanted to leave.”
"I can’t believe this,” Louis shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Between you fucking off across the world from the rest of us every chance you get, and Zayn straight up leaving, it’s almost like you planned this.”
“Louis, behave,” Liam starts, but there’s no heat in it. Liam probably agrees.
“Oh come off it,” Louis argues, and Harry can tell he’s genuinely angry. He just can’t tell if it’s at him or at Zayn. “I have a right to be angry because he never mentioned he wanted to go on a break.”
Harry shrugs without saying anything. There’s no point.
“We need to work on a statement,” Liam says, after a moment. Harry lets out a low chuckle. Ever the responsible one, their Liam. “We have seven months left of the tour left, and we can figure out what to do after that.”
“We’re not breaking up,” Louis argues. “We have so much material for the next album. Shit I’m actually proud of and that I want people to listen to.”
“We’ll record it, Louis,” Liam tells him, placing a gently hand on Louis’s shoulder to calm him down.
Harry raises a brow. This is all so ridiculous. He tries to keep his voice level when he asks, “Without Zayn?”
“We have the material, Harry,” Niall finally says, mediating the situation before an argument breaks out again. He turns to Louis and says, “We don’t have to break up, but I do think we need a break. We’re going to kill each other at the rate we’re going.”
They don’t talk much about it after, and everyone records what they need to separately, for the most part. Zayn becomes a taboo topic, and by the time the hiatus rolls around, they’re not even in the same hotels half the time. Harry is the first one to leave the label, which he thinks is what everyone expects. The group chat that they have is routinely bumped in the year that follows the hiatus, but then it dies down. Harry wonders if the others are in touch with each other, but he stays out it all.
He’s not really hurt about it, really. He just wishes Zayn was there those last seven months. He still wishes that Zayn is somehow still here, but he’s pretty much given up on that. There’s been so much said, and Harry blames himself more than anyone else. While Louis can turn snide pettiness into an art form, Harry always makes everything unnecessarily dramatic. He’s not even sure why he was mad at Zayn, in hindsight. If Zayn hadn’t walked away in the middle of the night that fateful day, someone else would have eventually. He understands it now. He knew Zayn was having problems, and couldn’t say anything. He wonders if there’s ever a chance that he would see Zayn again (he thinks about asking Stevie Nicks if she could ever be civil with Lindsey Buckingham again, but that’s pushing the envelope on a friendship he didn’t even think he would ever have).
*
Harry thinks about seeing Zayn again more than he would ever admit out loud. He imagines seeing Zayn for the first time at an award show, snarking about various acts under their breaths, before Harry pulls Zayn into a bathroom stall like they’re seventeen, lonely, and in desperate need of a warm mouth. Sometimes he imagines them meeting on the red carpet, with their respective dates, and eyeing each other up. Maybe they’ll meet each other at one of the thousands of parties they both seem to be constantly invited to, but never seem to be in attendance at the same time. Maybe one of them would yell about betrayal, and the other would yell about lies told over the years, and it would escalate into a physical altercation - which is ridiculous because neither him or Zayn would ever throw a punch. He briefly indulges Zayn actually replying to one of the emails about a One Direction reunion that Liam sends periodically, but he knows better than expecting Zayn to answer his own emails. Maybe the Queen would knight them one day, and they’ll have to put on brave smiles and face each other in front of a nation. Harry has thousands of scenarios for something that seems impossible.
*
Harry doesn’t imagine it happening at 9 A.M on a Tuesday in a local coffee shop in Los Angeles. It’s his favorite, and it’s owned by a Polish man who has no idea who he is. It’s tucked away on a quiet corner in West Hollywood, and it’s never busy when he’s there in the mornings, and Harry knows that the paparazzi in the city are busy at other, busier, coffee shops that are known for their celebrity clientele. In a way, it shouldn’t surprise Harry at all that Zayn would also find a coffee shop like that appealing.
Pushing the sunglasses off his face and into his hair - unruly and ridiculous because hey, he didn’t plan for this, Harry gets on the line behind Zayn. A part of him thinks that maybe he could avoid saying anything, but when Zayn immediately freezes, Harry knows he’s doomed. There’s something to be said about how much time they’ve spent together, and how well they know, well, knew each other that Zayn can recognize Harry by his mere presence.
“Harry,” Zayn says, softly, without turning around. The Yorkshire accent is thick as ever, and Harry feels it reverberate through his whole body.
“Zayn.” He wants it to sound blank and impersonal, like Harry hasn’t spent the last six years thinking about him. Except he knows it comes out breathless and nervous because Harry can’t control his emotions around Zayn, no matter how much he trains himself.
Zayn lets out a huff of breath, and turns around to face him, their eyes meeting. Harry swallows hard, the air thick around them, because Zayn’s eyes are as expressive as ever. Harry can feel them boring into him, taking a once over. Harry can’t help but wish he put a little more effort into himself which is ridiculous considering there’s probably a thousand things running through Zayn’s mind right now, and literally none of them are about how Harry looks.
“I hear congratulations are due,” Harry eventually says, when the intensity of Zayn’s stare gets a bit too intense, and the silence between them feels a bit too heavy.
Zayn looks away, and focuses intensely on his hands. “Uh, yeah, thanks.”
Harry knows about the baby, everyone knows about the baby. Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid can’t bring a new life on to this planet without it dominating every news cycle. Liam, for some godforsaken reason that Harry will never know, decided to bring the old group chat back to life. Louis had responded with a thumbs up emoji and Niall responded with a video recording of a congratulations. Harry couldn’t be bothered because everyone knows Zayn probably won’t receive the texts considering he changes his phone number every week.
Harry wants to say something else, but right as he opens his mouth, the barista brings Zayn his coffee. Zayn takes it, mumbles some kind of thank you, and steps forward until he’s in Harry’s space. He places a delicate hand on Harry’s bicep, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower not to react.
“See you around, Harry,” Zayn says, barely above a whisper.
Harry wants to echo the sentiment, but his mouth runs dry, and Zayn doesn’t wait anyways. Harry watches Zayn leave, and turns back around. The old man at the counter, Jan, gives Harry a pitiful, knowing smile. Harry just shakes his head and orders his usual oat milk latte.
*
Harry doesn’t want to think about it because really, it’s an inconsequential interaction between two former colleagues in a coffee shop. That’s all it really is. Really. Yeah, sure, he probably exhausts everyone by talking about it constantly, but it really is inconsequential. Jeff had to politely sit him down down and tell him, in the plainest terms possible, that he loves Harry to death, but he really cannot listen to the same coffee shop saga for another minute. When he calls his mother, she listens silently before saying “Harry, love, are you sure you don’t want to reach out and speak to Zayn?” Harry has to hang up after because he has no intention of ever doing that. Gemma isn’t really any better because she just asks him to come home and “drink the pining away”, which Harry thinks is more about her current breakup problems than Zayn. Still, he promises her that he’ll be home soon before he hangs up on her. Nick is of no help, whatsoever, which shouldn’t surprise Harry. He laughs and laughs, and laughs some more when Harry calls him out on all the laughing. Harry has to eventually hang up when Nick tells him to send Zayn his nudes, which is a terrible plan, even if Harry considers it for a hot second because, hey, it would break the ice.
By the end of it all, Harry decides to silently fester in his own bizarre pining. It’s not like he wants anything from Zayn except, ironically enough, for Zayn to yell at him. At least that would give Harry a chance to say his well rehearsed apology. Regardless, Harry tries to put it to bed. It’s not like he’ll see Zayn again for another six years at the rate they’re going.
*
Except it’s not even six days later when Harry sees Zayn again. If a chance coffee shop meeting was shocking, it’s nothing compared to seeing Zayn in his absolute favorite - okay, fine, third favorite juice bar. As Harry walks in, distracted by Jeff’s texts about tour planning, he practically runs into Zayn, who is walking out holding some green concoction. Harry scrunches his nose up in surprise, not just at seeing Zayn, but at the drink. It’s probably a testament to how much things have changed that Zayn is holding what looks like a juice with kale in it, considering the last time Harry had any sort of relationship with Zayn, the other man would rather die than touch the leafy evil, in his own words.
Zayn seems to sense his confusion, but instead of saying anything, he rises the juice in a mock salute and smiles at Harry. It’s not Harry’s favorite smile, which is definitely the one that takes over Zayn’s face and makes his eyes crinkle. But, it’s friendly and pleasant and Harry finds himself smiling back at Zayn. Zayn doesn’t say anything else as he walks out, and Harry thinks that’s that, and he can store that moment away in memory like the last time. Except, as life seems desperate to prove, that’s not all it is. As soon as he grabs his own drink and walks out the shop, Zayn slides up next to him, their hips slightly bumping into each other, and in true Zayn fashion, he doesn’t say anything. It’s not an awkward silence, really, and Zayn seems too busy with his own drink to say anything, but Harry can’t bear it.
“I never thought I’d see the day that you would be juicing,” Harry says, more to fill the silence, but he really is curious.
Zayn shrugs next to him, still focusing on his drink. “Yeah well, I’ve lived in LA for years now. Might as well get on the bandwagon.”
“Well you chose a good juice bar,” Harry supplies, casually. He looks at Zayn from the corner of his eye, and Zayn is staring straight ahead. “That one is my favorite - well, third favorite.”
“Duly noted.”
“Right.”
They fall back into a weird not awkward, but definitely not not awkward silence. Harry is calculating how long it takes before he would reach his road when Zayn says, “I quit smoking too.”
“Huh,” Harry starts because, well, that’s new. This time he does look over at Zayn, who is smiling slightly, half in embarrassment and half in pride. Harry bumps his shoulder to Zayn’s. “What bought that on?”
“Baby in the house,” Zayn explains, with a rise of the brow, like Harry should know that, which Harry supposes he should. He keeps forgetting Zayn is a father now, which should be sign enough that the man he’s walking down a busy Los Angeles street isn’t the same boy he once knew. Harry doesn’t get a chance to wallow in that thought because Zayn looks so pleased with himself when he says, “It’s not perfect, but like, I’m down to less than a pack a week.”
“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, genuinely, and without hesitation. They’re facing each other now, and Harry can’t help but look Zayn up and down. He looks better than Harry remembers, which is shocking because Harry remembers Zayn being beautiful. But, it’s different now. Zayn still has tired lines around his eyes, but it’s more the baby kind of tired lines, and not the extreme anxiety variety from back in the day. He doesn’t look as gaunt as he did the last year of tour either. There’s a general easiness to Zayn’s face that reminds Harry of when they were kids, and they still believed in a band that turned too toxic to bear eventually. He’s not as skinny as he used to be, and Harry can just about make out the toned ab lines under Zayn’s white t-shirt. Harry doesn’t realize he’s thinking about how good Zayn looks until a fraction too late. “You look great.”
It’s not what he means to say - well, no, it is, but not out loud. Zayn’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he ducks his head so that he’s not looking at Harry anymore. “Yeah, uh, you too.”
If it’s anyone else, it would sound terribly forced, but because it’s Zayn, it comes off as genuine, as everything Zayn does always seems to. Harry takes a moment to take in Zayn’s whole face, committing it to memory because he’s not sure when he’ll see Zayn again, and Zayn is looking at Harry with a curious, unreadable expression. Harry doesn’t even realize he’s at the road where he would need to split off from Zayn until he gets there. “I - uh, this is me.”
Zayn nods, a little shy. “Yeah, see you around, Harry.”
Harry thinks about the way Zayn says his name for hours.
*
“Are you stalking me?”
Harry turns around so quickly at the familiar Yorkshire drawl that he nearly takes out his neck in the process. In the grand scheme of things, he guesses that seeing Zayn in the Beverley Hills Hotel that he uses as a makeshift studio sometimes isn’t the strangest. Zayn is dressed in a plain white t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of cuffed jeans. He flashes Harry a crooked smile, eyes bright, and it takes all of Harry’s strength not to grin fondly back at Zayn, which is still strange because theoretically, they hate each other.
“Me?” Harry asks, indignantly. “I’m working, alright. What are you doing here?”
Zayn shrugs. “Working.”
“This doesn’t seem to be the place for full time stay at home dads,” Harry teases, smiling slightly. He still doesn’t know what kind of dynamic he has with Zayn, but judging by Zayn’s easy smile, it’s probably not a bad one anymore.
That gets an eye roll out of Zayn, but Harry still knows Zayn well enough to know that it’s out of amusement. “You’re still not as funny as you think you are.”
Harry hums at that, and they fall into pace, climbing up the stairs, hands by their sides and shoulders lightly touching.
“What are you doing here, for real?” Harry asks, eyeing Zayn out of the corner of his eye.
Zayn brings a finger up to his chin, as if he’s debating how much he should tell Harry. Harry decides not to push. It’s not like they’re friends, anyways. He’s about to change the topic when Zayn says, “I have a meeting to work through the logistics of a tour, and recording something new.”
“Can’t wait to hear you croon about being sad and having sex,” Harry says, in response, and immediately needs to bite back a groan. He’s basically admitting to listening to Zayn’s album, which he never wants to.
If Zayn notices Harry’s frustration, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he bites his lower lip and lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re one to talk. You basically monopolized the having sex and being sad market.”
“You listened to my album?” Harry asks, raising a brow, and not even pretending to hide his pride. So much for Zayn pretending none of them to exist. He shoots Zayn a smug grin, which Zayn promptly rolls his eyes at.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was hard to miss.”
Harry will take it. He knows he’s full on dimpling when he smiles at Zayn, and Zayn flushes, which still remains in the top tier of cutest things Harry has witnessed in his life. “If it makes you feel better, you’re very easy to miss, and I still searched your stuff out.”
Zayn gives him a pointed look. “That’s as backhanded a compliment as any.”
Harry laughs at that, which in turn makes Zayn laugh, and for a moment, Harry feels nostalgia for a time when things were this easy. Zayn was always the easiest to banter with, mostly because Zayn would always let him finish his jokes, and would take his teasing with a grain of salt. The others were definitely funnier than them, but Zayn understood his humor, and Harry understood his. He wishes they could have this again, but he knows they need to actually talk before they can. Harry doesn’t realize that he followed Zayn to a board room until Zayn clears his throat is, shoving his hands into his pocket and biting his lower lip, looking down at the ground. It’s a nervous tick that Zayn has had for so many years, and Harry freezes.
“You okay?”
Zayn looks up at Harry through those infinitely long eyelashes. There’s a flicker of something behind Zayn’s eyes. “I - Harry, I think we need to talk.” Zayn sounds a bit taken aback by his own statement, and the anxiety of the moment settles into Zayn’s face.
“Yeah, I really think we need to.” Harry agrees quickly, and Zayn relaxes in front of him. “It’s about time we did, right?”
“It really is.” Zayn says firmly.
*
Zayn invites Harry to his house, and that’s how Harry finds himself playing chauffeur to Zayn, who still, for some bizarre reason, doesn’t know how to drive. Zayn’s house is tucked away on a quiet street behind a tall white gate, and they get lost several times over on the way to it. Mostly because Zayn would give directions several seconds too late, and Harry would end up making the wrong turn, which in turn gets Zayn irritated. Harry starts to wonder if they might kill each other before they get a chance to talk when they finally arrive to the nondescript bungalow.
Zayn unlocks the door, and kicks his shoes off. Harry follows suit, but puts his shoes neatly by the shoe rack, next to Zayn’s Louis Vuitton sneakers, and this earns Harry an amused smile and a head shake from Zayn. They pass through a hallway that’s completely undecorated, and arrive at the kitchen-living room open space, and it strikes Harry just how American it is. Zayn of old would have found the vast, open space utterly insufferable, especially with the plain white walls and neat furniture. It’s probably more likely that this decorating scheme is Gigi’s idea, and Zayn didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Harry watches Zayn rumble around his cabinets before he pulls out a whiskey bottle, and two glasses. Harry raises a brow and Zayn shrugs. With a head nod, Zayn leads Harry down another hallway to a door.
“The man cave,” Zayn explains, opening the door. Harry immediately smiles when walking into the room. There’s paintings all over the wall, most of which are Zayn’s own graffiti art. There’s a desk in the corner with vinyls and lots of books. The left side of the room has two book shelfs filled with comics and graphic novels - a difference Harry still doesn’t understand. There’s a television mounted over the fireplace, a gaming console, and a tattered old red couch. There’s toys all over the floor, and a child’s play pen in the corner. It strikes Harry as a little odd that would be in Zayn’s self proclaimed man cave. Zayn seems to catch Harry’s look because he says, “It’s easier to look after Alia in here when she’s not at Gigi’s. I can get work done and watch her, ya know?”
Harry watches Zayn pick up two stuffed animals, and drop them into a basket. “Gigi doesn’t live here?”
“It’s - uh, it’s complicated.” Zayn explains, as he sets the whiskey glasses down on the little corner table. Harry plops down on the leather couch, which is well worn and comfortable.
“It usually is with you,” Harry says, without thinking, but the second he realizes what he said, he wants to slap himself. He watches Zayn freeze mid pour, and glare at him. Harry winces, raising a hand in surrender. “Sorry, that was out of line.”
An awkward silence falls over them, until Zayn runs a hand through his hair, turning back to carefully pouring the drinks. “You’re not wrong.”
“No judgement,” Harry offers earnestly. It’s not like he’s in any place to judge the messiness of Zayn’s relationships when he’s probably not any better. He gives Zayn a polite nod when the other man hands him his drink. Zayn sits down next to him. Harry notices the Xanax on the coffee table in front of them. He eyes Zayn cautiously. “How are you, anyways?”
Zayn snorts. “Well, as you can see, I’m doing great.”
“Zayn.”
Zayn sighs, running a hand through his hair. Harry stays silent. The thing he’s learned about Zayn over the years is that he doesn’t respond well to pushing, and as much as Harry wants to, he doesn’t know what his place is, especially after all these years.
“I’m better than I was,” Zayn says eventually, fingering the edge of his whiskey glass.
Harry meets Zayn’s gaze, trying to wrestle the guilt creeping through his whole body. Zayn, for his part, doesn’t say anything. He just gives Harry a sad, distant look, and Harry can’t handle it. There’s so many things he regrets, but his part in whatever Zayn went through hits him the hardest. Harry takes a sip of his drink before looking down at his hands.
“Zayn, I just want to say that I’m sorry. For a lot of things.” Harry says softly, trying to meet Zayn’s gaze.
“You didn’t know,” Zayn says quietly, not looking at Harry, and instead focusing intensely at his glass. They sit in silence for what feels like ages until Zayn says, “I would have left anyways.”
“I would have understood, though.” Harry says, a little too loud for the silent ambience they’ve set in the room. The windows are open, but the sun is setting and there’s very little light filtering in. From the corner of his eyes, Harry can see Zayn and the five o’clock shadow setting on his face. He looks tired. Harry sighs. “There’s so many things that I wish I understood back then, so that I could have been there for you.”
This finally gets Zayn to look at Harry. Zayn looks so small and vulnerable that Harry just wants to reach out and hold him, and whisper every version of I’m sorry I stayed silent while you were suffering that he can think of. Instead, ironically enough, Harry stays silent.
“I wish I told you,” Zayn admits, with a hint of smile on his face. “I was just so scared of everything back then.”
Harry huffs out a laugh because that has to be the understatement of the century. “D’you remember your dad telling us that we shouldn’t be scared of our feelings and to talk them out?”
This gets a laugh out of Zayn. “Man, that was so awkward.”
“Yaser Malik knew what he was talking about,” Harry tells Zayn, sagely. Zayn laughs again, and the air in the room suddenly feels much lighter. Harry considers his words carefully when he says, “I mean it though, Zayn. I want to do right by you, at least now.” Harry meets Zayn’s gaze, and there’s just something so honest and tender in Zayn’s face that Harry can feel his entire face warming.
“I’m sorry too, H.” Zayn says into the quiet room, looking away from Harry. “You deserved better than me. I really am sorry for hurting you.”
If Harry was anywhere else, and Zayn was anyone else, Harry would have said something about how that’s bullshit, and that Zayn was the best thing to happen to Harry’s life. Except, maybe he wasn’t. Harry doesn’t actually know. Sex messes with relationships in such a profound way that it’s hard to tell whether he’s hurt because he didn’t get enough out of whatever their dynamic was, or whether he got too much out of it. In a way, Harry knew what he was getting himself into. The first rule about hooking up with your mates is that you’re not supposed to catch feelings, and yet, Harry did. In a lot of ways, Zayn never promised anything, and yet. Harry was hurt, and he can’t deny that.
“It’s okay,” Harry lies. He’s not sure if it’s okay, but he’ll let Zayn have it. “We were so young.”
“We were,” Zayn echos, but there’s something distant in his voice. Zayn silently pours himself more whiskey, before turning to Harry and offering the same, which Harry accepts. A silence falls over them until Zayn breaks it. “How are you?”
“I - ” Harry starts. It’s such a trivial question. How are you’s are always met with people giving a disinterested answer about how they’re fine, and everything is perfectly alright. Except Zayn asks it with such a gentle curiosity that Harry feels like he owes him honesty, especially since Zayn seems to want that too, and is willing to offer it on his end. Harry sighs. “I don’t know.”
Zayn gives him a soft, encouraging smile. Harry doesn’t even know where to start, really, even if he wants to talk about it all. “I just feel so lost, like everyone is moving on without me, and I’m falling behind the pack.”
Zayn lets out an undignified snort, and Harry glares at him. Zayn just shoots him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, it’s just that it’s funny that you think that when I’ve spent all my life chasing you.” Harry quirks a brow. Zayn splutters. “You know what I mean.”
“That I was the long lost love of your life?” Harry says, just a bit wry, but he grins when the tips of Zayn’e ears turn pink.
“Something like that,” Zayn says, good naturedly, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “It’s just that you’ve always been so sure of yourself, even when we were kids, and it’s just strange hearing you say that you feel lost.”
Harry shakes his head. “I’ve never been sure of anything. If anything, you always seemed sure of everything.”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” Harry explains, running a hand through his hair. “You just know who you want to be.”
Harry glances over at Zayn, who’s looking out the window at the darkening sky. Zayn shrugs. “It’s easy to be someone when they tell you who you’re supposed to be.”
“Yeah well, I don’t want to be that person anymore,” Harry says, with a dark smile. If anyone can understand Zayn’s feeling of being given an identity to act out, its Harry. It’s not that he’s bitter, but there’s a sour taste that hangs in the air whenever he thinks about the band too long. “I can’t be boyband Harry anymore.”
“Think you’re long past that stage, babe.” Zayn says, gently. Harry tries to ignore how the accented babe hangs in the air in such a Zayn way. “We’re not those people anymore.”
“I want us to be better people,” Harry says, uncertainly. Zayn angles his chin and looks at Harry with curious eyes. Harry plays with a loose curl falling into his face, and gets mild satisfaction at how Zayn’s eyes trace the movement. “I want us to try being mates again. Water under the bridge and all that, but do it right this time around.”
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, still with the same curious expression. “I could use a mate these days.”
Harry grins at that, genuinely. “Me too.”
Harry doesn’t actually know how long he stays at Zayn’s house. They exchange stories of what they’ve been working on over the years, and Zayn tells him all the songs he likes and doesn’t like on Fine Line. It shocks Harry how easy he’s able to share all this with Zayn, while he couldn’t even try with the others. Zayn shows him pictures of Alia, and tells Harry that they’re waiting on her first word. They talk about Los Angeles and London, and how home is such a strange concept these days. It’s not until the early hours of the morning that Harry leaves Zayn’s house, and Zayn waves him off, with the promise that they will meet up again.
*
The thing about being told that everyone wants to be your friend is that you grow up believing that when friends leave your life, it’s your fault. Harry isn’t naive, and he doesn’t think that friendships can survive years and continents, but he didn’t think that the band’s relationship is like five children in a sandbox, and when the sandbox is gone, so is the friendship. He’s also not naive enough to think it’s not partially, or even mostly his fault.
Even with the bubble of the band providing buffer, Harry knows that his relationship with Louis was long strained. The rumors and conspiracy theories took their toll, of course they did, but even before that, Harry could feel the space between them. Louis never made it a secret that Harry was just a bit too pretentious, a bit too professional, a bit too separated from lad culture to really click with him. He never said it outright because, for all his flaws, Louis can still be polite, but once the single tour bus turned into two buses, with Harry usually occupying the second one alone, the divide was cemented. Harry doesn’t like to think about how they were once so close, and now he doesn’t even know what’s going on in Louis's life.
He doesn’t expect things to be better with Liam because even from the start, Harry had a feeling that he was just too much for Liam, like he’s the boy at school that Liam would be terrified of. In the early years, Liam tried to meet Harry half way, with all the earnestness that one could expect from him, even if Harry constantly frustrated him. In the later years, Liam made it pretty clear that he didn’t understand Harry’s life, and while he’s not judging, he really doesn’t know what to say to Harry anymore. Harry figures that’s fair, even if it stings a little. They just grew apart, and that solidified when they’ve gone years without talking, and only managing pleasantries when they saw each other again.
Things with Niall are much better, but that’s because Niall mastered the art of polite distancing - and not in the way that Zayn does, where it comes off as moody, or Harry where it comes off as indifference. Niall has a way about him that can convince everyone that he’s still their friend, while simultaneously expecting nothing and giving nothing away. Niall will make an effort if you will, but he’ll never push you. Harry thinks that’s a dynamic he can work with, which explains why he can still count on Niall. They’re not as close as they were, but if Harry texts Niall about seeing Fleetwood Mac in concert, he can expect a text back from Niall.
Zayn is the odd one because no matter how much Harry thinks about it, he could never place a word on their relationship in the band. When he saw the quotes about never talking while they were band mates, Harry was hurt, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that maybe Zayn wasn’t so wrong. He remembers those early days when they would exchange a look and sneak out of interviews and signings when things got a bit much, and end up on the tour bus cuddling on one bunk, without actually talking about their feelings. He thinks about those middle years when they couldn’t get enough of each other - like they were drunk off each other’s mouths, fingers, and presence, and how a mere look between them can say so much, and yet so little. He thinks about the later years, when there were oceans separating them, and how there was so much that he wanted to tell Zayn, and yet he couldn’t. He thinks about the drunk calls, the mumbled I love you’s, the engagement, the long, aching silence between them. Losing Zayn should have been the easiest because they weren’t friends, but losing Zayn was the hardest because Zayn was the person he was the most desperate to hold on to.
At least he gets a second chance now to do it right.
*
It turns out that being friends with Zayn is surprisingly easy. They see each other often enough, usually to grab their morning coffee together because Zayn refuses to drive himself anywhere. Harry once joked that Zayn only opened communication between them in order to get a built in chauffeur, and Zayn only dignified that with a snort, so Harry isn’t quite convinced it’s not true. They talk about their tours: Zayn’s indefinitely put off for various reasons, and Harry’s coming up sooner than he would like. Zayn is really good to bounce outfit ideas off of because nobody else besides Harry appreciates a good floral shirt. There’s a lot of baby talk, which shouldn’t be surprising because Harry loves children, and Zayn is a father now.
The first time Harry meets Alia is by chance. He’s at Zayn’s house to run through some tour outfits before he packs his bags when Zayn realizes that they’re out of formula. Just ten minutes after Zayn runs out of his house, promising to be back in fifteen at most, Gigi arrives at the door, holding a baby girl with thick, curly, dark hair and expressive blue eyes. Harry practically coos when he sees Alia that he almost forgets about Gigi, who he’s not entirely sure actually likes him anyways. He’s so endeared by the way the baby girl curls into her mother’s shoulder that he barely hears what Gigi is saying to him.
“Huh,” Harry blinks, coming back to his senses and curbing any baby fever that he feels bubbling inside him. “I’m sorry, what?”
Gigi angles her phone between her shoulder and ear, and gives Harry an impatient look. “I said that I’m really late for my shoot, and I can’t - hold on Ken, it’s Harry.” She gives Harry a once over. “Kendall says hi. Anyways, I’m already really late, and I can’t wait for Zayn. Can you just watch her until he gets back?”
Before Harry can answer, Gigi is handing him Alia and smiling gratefully at him, even if he didn’t actually say anything. From his experience, children of that age often cry when they meet new strangers, and as good as Harry is with kids, he would much prefer if they didn’t cry in his presence. He braces for Alia’s tears but they don’t come, and instead, she drops her cheek onto his shoulder and drools slightly.
“What do I do with her?” Harry asks, dumbly.
Gigi gives him an amused look. “She’s an eleven month old who already ate, Harry. You don’t have to do anything with her. Just make sure she doesn’t put anything into her mouth, and doesn’t stick her fingers into outlets.”
“That I can do,” Harry laughs. Gigi’s phone goes off again and she groans. She gives Harry one last smile, running back down the steps.
“I knew I should have stuck to my guts and become a volleyball player,” Gigi shouts over her shoulder. “My mother is a demon.”
“Noted.” Harry shouts back, as he watches her blonde head disappear down the driveway to where her car is. He turns to take a closer look at Alia, who looks exactly like Zayn but with Gigi’s eyes. “Now, what shall we do, princess?”
Zayn’s fifteen minutes at the store turns into an hour, and in that time, Harry manages to figure out which toys Alia prefers to others. She’s a clever kid, he quickly notes. She loves music, and her favorite toy is the doll house that lights up and plays little jingles. Harry finds Zayn’s guitar in the corner, and frowns slightly when he notices it’s out of tune, like Zayn probably hasn’t touched it in months. He sits cross legged on the floor and tunes it before he starts playing the opening chords from one of his songs, and watches with some pride when Alia stares at him with big eyes. He’s so busy with the guitar and cooing at Alia crawling around that he doesn’t notice Zayn walking in to the room until he looks up and sees Zayn smiling fondly down at him.
“What?” Harry asks, ignoring his face warming.
“Nothing,” Zayn says, shaking his head, still smiling fondly. He plops down next to Harry on the floor, and takes the guitar out of Harry’s hands. “It looks like we have our next babysitter sorted.”
Harry laughs at that. He watches Zayn play a few chords from one of his new songs, and squints at him. “Were you just waiting for someone to tune that for you?”
“No,” Zayn says slowly. He frowns slightly, like he’s thinking about something. “I just haven’t had the inspiration to do anything lately.”
Harry hums in sympathy. He knows how that feels better than anyone else. The year and a half after the hiatus were filled with long days when Harry knew he needed to write, and he needed to get back to work, and yet nothing came to him. He’s more inspired now than he’s been for a long time, and the second album really feels like a new release of life, but there were so many days along the way where he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything.
“Did Gigi say anything?” Zayn asks, distractedly playing chords to what sounds like Live While We’re Young, but Harry thinks he’s just imagining that.
Harry shrugs. “Just that her mother is a demon, and that Kendall apparently says hi - to me, not you.”
“Yeah because there’s ever a question about who Kendall Jenner was saying hi to,” Zayn snickers. Harry lets out a snort. “Who would have thought our lives would end up here.”
Harry shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Two kids from the north of England wrapped up in the Kardashians and Hadids.”
Zayn huffs out a low, amused laugh and gets up off the floor and walks over to where Alia is playing with a stuffed whale. He picks her up in one swift motion, and she cackles in excitement as Zayn flies her over his head. “Let’s get you fed, yeah?”
That’s how the day goes, and Harry can feel the contentment seeping into his bones. Zayn gets the baby food ready, and slaps away Harry’s curious hands when he dips his finger into the mushy goop that was once carrots. They lounge around while Alia crawls around the floor, Harry’s outfit woes long forgotten. Eventually Alia gets cranky, as babies always do, and Zayn takes her upstairs to her crib. Harry watches from the doorway, as Zayn puts his daughter to sleep, not even bothering to keep the smile off his face.
“What?” Zayn asks, when he catches Harry.
Harry knows he looks impossibly fond when he says, “You’re a really good father.”
“I’m trying to be,” Zayn admits. “I think my dad taught me well.”
Harry grins. “My main man Yaser.”
It’s not until they’re downstairs, and Harry is showing Zayn his outfits for tour that it really hits him that he actually doesn’t want to go on tour. It’s a strange realization because Harry always wants to perform, and being on stage is the easiest thing in the world for him. His happiest memories are traveling around different countries performing to crowds of people who want to listen to him, and yet despite all that, he just wants to stay home, or whatever constitutes home these days.
“I like the pink.”
“Huh,” Harry blinks, and notices Zayn eyeing him curiously from the tattered red couch where he’s reading a comic book. Harry realizes he’s still holding up two suit jackets while he got distracted in his thoughts. He glances at the pink jacket and then at Zayn whose face morphs into vague worry. Harry shakes his head, pulling it together. “Yeah, I think I do too.”
“You alright?”
Harry smiles and nods. “Yeah, just jitters, I think.”
“Alright,” Zayn says, with a shrug, turning back to his comic book. “The offer to talk is on the table if you ever want to take it up.”
Zayn says things so casually that it’s easy to think he’s not genuine, but anyone that knows Zayn knows he’s always genuine, about everything, to a disconcerting degree. Harry knows he can talk to Zayn about anything if he wanted to, it’s just that years of habit means that the reality of it is a lot harder. Zayn doesn’t push him though, and Harry relaxes. It’s not like he even knows what’s bothering him right now, anyways. He just doesn’t want to travel, which isn’t the strangest feeling in the world when their lifestyle is the way it it.
*
Harry’s tour starts in London. It was supposed to start in North America, but with the chaos of 2020 coming to a close, and having to move the tour back for another year, it makes sense to start it in Europe. It was a long, arduous debate and everyone has their own opinions, but eventually Jeff steps in and makes the call. It’s a chance for you to go home, Harry, Jeff had said and Harry has to admit it makes sense. Sure, the traveling logistics are a bit more complicated, but England is still England, and he did promise Gemma that he’ll be home soon.
The morning that he’s due in LAX for his flight, he’s restless. It’s a combination of pre-tour jitters which always hit, even when he had four other boys to absorb the shock, and an inexplicable anxiety settling in. It’s ten months on the road, running from September to June, and while he loves his team to death, it’s still a long time on the road. He chalks a lot of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach to anxiety hangover from the days of the band, but still, it doesn’t feel great to say the least. Jeff helps him pack his two suitcases, and reminds him to pack his carryon and to not be late before leaving Harry’s house.
Harry stares at the Gucci duffle bag on the floor before he looks out the window at the wild California coastline. He loves Malibu like he hasn’t loved a place since Cheshire. There’s a freedom being somewhere that’s simultaneously too big to know who he is, and intimate enough to feel special. He’s spent years trying to convince his mum and Gemma to move into his spare Los Angeles house, but neither of them want to part with the comforts of their small, northern village. He’s dallying around, not packing, and not caring that the minutes are ticking by when his doorbell rings.
“Are you not packed?” Zayn asks, when Harry answers the door. He has a duffle bag draped over one shoulder, and Alia in his arms. She’s dressed in a pink one piece, with a little hat with cat ears. Harry smiles at her, holding a finger out that she promptly takes. He looks over at Zayn, who looks at him with an expression that’s equal parts endeared and worried. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Harry asks, moving to let Zayn into his house. Harry doesn’t know when it happened, but they’ve both gotten so used to each other’s living spaces that it almost feels like they’re back in 2012. Harry looks at the duffle bag that Zayn’s carrying. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” Zayn tells him, simply. Like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. When he catches Harry’s confusion, he rolls his eyes. “London - or, like, Bradford. But, you know what I mean.”
“And you’re flying there tonight?” Harry asks, furrowing his brow.
Zayn tsks when he sees Harry’s open, and mostly empty, duffle bag sitting on the floor. “Yes - keep up, will you?”
Zayn lets Alia down to the ground and she promptly topples the bag over, and tries to crawl into it. Harry smiles at her before fixing Zayn with a glare. “I’d keep up if I had any clue what you’re planning.”
“I’m not planning anything,” Zayn says, wandering into Harry’s kitchen, and pulling things out of his fridge, like he lives there. “Alia said her first word - dada, by the way, even if Yolanda thinks she said her name first, and I figured it’s time to have her see my mum again.”
Harry nods, as if he understands. He doesn’t. Zayn pulls out a bottle filled with a red juice, opening it and sniffing it. He scrunches his nose up in disgust before looking at Harry.
“Beets,” Harry says, weakly. Zayn shrugs, pouring it into a glass, and taking a sip. Judging from his expression, Harry thinks that he finds the taste as repugnant as the smell. Harry sighs. “Okay, sure. You’re going home, but what does that have to do with me?”
Zayn shrugs, focusing intensely on his juice. “Same flight.”
“Ah,” Harry says, realization dawning on him. He quirks a brow at Zayn. “Are you coming to my show, then?”
Another shrug, still more focused on his drink. “In Manchester, maybe.”
Harry counts the days. There’s two shows in London, one in Dublin, one each in Sheffield and Glasgow, before he arrives in Manchester. If he estimates it correctly, he’ll see Zayn about two weeks after they’ve landed in London. Harry smiles at Zayn, who just gives him a blank look, staring profoundly at his beet juice that Harry definitely made entirely too long ago to be acceptable for drinking.
“You do realize that if we both show up at LAX at the same time, people will talk,” Harry says slowly. He doesn’t care, really. They’ve been careful avoiding public spaces, but he’s sure that someone somewhere got a picture of them, and it’s on the internet. He doesn’t really keep up with the internet anymore, and Zayn is even worse than him. But showing up to LAX is different, and it probably would break social media. Harry shudders thinking about the reunion rumors that would start up again.
“I don’t really look at social media anymore,” Zayn says, considerately. “If anything, my management might try to get me to collaborate with you.”
Harry considers that idea, but puts it to bed when Zayn shakes his head, already reading Harry’s mind. Harry grins. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
“I’m barely making music as is,” Zayn says, by way of explanation. Harry frowns. There’s something behind Zayn’s eyes that he can’t place and he’s worried. Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”
Harry raises a hand in surrender. “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?”
“No.”
Harry shrugs, dropping down to the floor where Alia starts to mess with his folded shirts. He lifts her up and she immediately reaches for his hair. Harry places a light kiss to her temple, and smiles when she giggles. He looks over to the kitchen island where Zayn is watching him, face unreadable. Harry sighs. “I’m not going to push, but talking would do you a world of good.”
“Thanks, mum,” Zayn says with a snort, but when Harry catches his eyes, they soften and Zayn nods. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Just wanna go home.”
“Alright,” Harry says, smiling slightly. It turns into a full fledged smile when Alia babbles in his arms. Harry turns to her when he says, “Let’s go home, then.”
*
There’s pictures. Of course there’s pictures.
What the fuck is going on, Niall’s text reads and Harry makes a mental note to call Niall once he splits off from Zayn.
Saying goodbye to Zayn proves harder than Harry expects. It’s funny how he’s managed to go six years without seeing Zayn, and yet, two months later, he finds it so hard to say goodbye to him when they’ll surely see each other in about two weeks. Harry tells himself it’s because he’s going to miss Alia a lot, and he’s having major baby fever at the moment, but he’s always been good at lying to himself.
“I’m holding you to Manchester,” Harry tells Zayn, as he pulls him into a one armed hug, careful not to disturb a sleeping Alia. Zayn hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder. “I will kill you, if you don’t show.”
“I promise I’ll be there,” Zayn whispers. Harry wants to believe him, and he does to an extent, but there’s always an instinctive distrust that he can’t seem to kick because of how many times he wanted Zayn somewhere, only for Zayn to be somewhere completely different. Zayn seems to sense that though because he says, “You’re allowed to kill me, if I don’t show up. You know where I live.”
Harry decides to trust him on it. He can feel the cameras on them, so he steps away. Zayn gives him one last nod before walking out of the terminal to where there’s probably a car waiting for him. Harry waits around for another twenty minutes while Mitch, Sarah, Naomi, Adam, and Charlotte trickle out of their own respective flights. He shoots Jeff a text saying that he’s in London, and that he can’t wait for tour. Jeff replies back with way too many emojis.
*
Harry facetimes Niall once he’s in his hotel room. They’re in the same city for once, which Harry thinks is nice, even if they won’t actually meet up because that’s not the kind of friends they are these days.
Niall is sitting on what looks like a wooden swing in a garden of sorts. He’s shirtless with a coffee mug in one hand. He smiles at Harry when he picks up, but it’s a bit distant. “We all thought you changed your number again, considering how hard it’s been to get in touch with you.”
“Yeah well,” Harry says, with a wince. He tries for a casual grin. “We’ve all been busy.”
“That we have,” Niall agrees, amicably enough. Harry can feel Niall’s eyes searching his face for something, and Harry feels his stomach turn a little, the guilt settling in. Niall nods, content with getting whatever he needed out of Harry’s face. “So, talk.”
Harry runs a hand through his hair, which turned into a complete disaster from the flight and his hat. Niall’s face is carefully blank, and Harry hates that. Niall is the one that things are supposed to be simple with, and he hates that it almost feels like Niall is judging him, even if his face is friendly enough. Harry says, “I saw Zayn.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Niall says, voice slightly cool, or as cool as Niall can manage. Harry wonders if he got this all wrong, and that Niall and Zayn somehow fell out in the months he’s last spoken to Niall. His worries are put to rest when Niall smiles slightly. “Hugging in Heathrow really broke the internet today.”
Harry lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m sure.”
“So, is this a thing?” Niall asks, quirking a brow. Whatever Niall was feeling before dissipates, and the air is a lot lighter. When Harry doesn’t say anything, Niall probes, “Like you and Zayn - is it, you know, a thing?”
“A thing.” Harry repeats, with a snort. “We’re mates. Well, we’re trying to be mates.”
There’s a lengthy pause that’s slightly on the uncomfortable side. Niall puts his mug aside and relaxes into the swing, giving Harry a curious look. Harry is about to say something else, and ramble about how it’s okay if Niall doesn’t want to talk about it when Niall says, “I think that might be a good idea.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks, raising a brow.
“Yeah,” Niall repeats back to him, this time with a proper smile. “I think it’s a good idea that you guys are patching things up.”
Harry sighs in relief before explaining, “We’ve been seeing each other daily. It’s nice.”
“Almost like you’re dating,” Niall says, with a lilt. Harry immediately flushes and that gets a laugh out of Niall. “So it is a thing.”
Niall sounds entirely too triumphant for Harry’s liking and Harry glares at him. “We’re mates, alright?”
“Mates with history,” Niall says with a shrug, and Harry can feel his face warming. “It’s funny how you two can manage to cut the whole band off, but still somehow find each other.”
There’s no harshness to Niall’s tone, but Harry still feels guilty. He doesn’t know how to tell Niall that the reason that he’s been so distant is that he’s been trying to figure himself out, and that he was suffocated, and that he doesn’t feel like the lads make an effort to understand him. He can’t tell Niall that because there’s a thin line between what’s acceptable and what isn’t, and he doesn’t want to lose Niall either, especially when Niall is still the only one making an effort with Harry.
In the end, Harry says, “I really am sorry, you know.”
Niall shrugs, not quite mad about it. “It is what it is. We all grew up and changed.”
“Exactly.”
There’s another pause before Niall says, “Does this mean you’ll give those emails Liam sent a chance?”
The reunion emails have been sitting in his inbox for months. Harry doesn’t know how to reply to them, so in true Harry fashion, he sends out an automatic response with phrases like you’re doing amazing today and treat people with kindness, and all kinds of hippie stuff that the other boys think is ridiculous. Niall doesn’t push him for an answer, but Harry still sighs. “It’s not the right time for it. You know it.”
Niall hums. “But you’ll do it if Zayn is on board.”
“Oh come off it, Niall,” Harry argues, slightly angry, because if there’s one thing that he’s tired of, it’s that. He can count the number of times he’s had a row with Liam and Louis over Zayn. Stop defending him, Liam had said, hurt and bitter backstage at the X-Factor. It’s almost like you planned this, Louis had accused, sad beyond recognition at Zayn leaving. “You know it’s not about that.”
Niall shrugs. “I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“There’s a lot of reasons I don’t want to do a reunion,” Harry justifies, even if he believes Niall, and there’s nothing accusatory from his end. Niall gives him a sad smile, and Harry concedes, “But I would rather do it with Zayn than without him.”
Niall nods, with a look of understanding. “You know I love you, right?”
Harry nods back, even if he’s not sure about it anymore. Niall has the patience of a saint, but Harry can tell he’s tired. Harry doesn’t say anything, but Niall doesn’t look for a response. He continues, “I love both you and Zayn, but you both tend to get very distant, and it hurts me because I would really like you both in my life, and I feel like I’m at crossroads.”
It’s honest and open, and Harry can feel his heart ache and how hard it must be for Niall. Liam and Louis cut their ties, knowing they have each other. Zayn and Harry somehow found each other in the midst of all the chaos, tentatively mates again. Niall, though, seems to be stuck in between everything. He’s friends with everyone, and that’s a hard place to be.
“I’m trying to be better about it,” Harry offers, earnestly. This gets a smile out of Niall, which Harry counts as a victory. “We should catch up. What’s your tour schedule look like?”
Just like that, things settle into something Harry can recognize. They overlap in Europe a bit, a random day in Antwerp, and then again in Los Angeles in the new year. Harry has three Los Angeles dates, and Niall has two. They make plans to meet up in both Antwerp and LA, and something in Niall’s tone tells him that he’s not really expecting Harry to commit to it, and it reminds Harry of how he didn’t quite believe that he’ll see Zayn in Manchester. So, he gives Niall the most genuine look he can muster, and promises with as much conviction as possible, that they’ll see each other soon.
*
Harry forgets all about his nerves the minute he hits the stage. His mother always told him that he’s born for the stage, and there’s never been a more accurate statement. The adrenaline hits him like a drug, and it only takes him a minute to adjust to the lights and sounds of the stage. The crowd is buzzing with energy, and Harry feeds off it like a drug. He starts with a foot stomper, before settling into a ballad. The crowd is positively deafening during Adore You, but the biggest roar comes during What Makes You Beautiful, which he sings in a completely different key from the crowd. Someone throws a rainbow flag on to stage, which Harry drapes over himself while he sings Lights Out.
I’m not ever going back.
Harry meets up with Nick, Daisy, and Pixie backstage. It hits Harry, vaguely, that he hasn’t seen any of them in well over a year. Harry is exhausted, mostly due to being out of habit of touring, but when Nick insists that they should visit all their favorite spots, Harry can’t say no. He would much rather return to his hotel room, but he still goes along with it. It’s not until many, many, many drinks in at The Alibi, that Nick pulls him to the side, an amused smile ghosting his face.
“So Zayn,” Nick slurs, with devilish amusement. “What’s that about then?”
Harry groans. “We’re just mates.”
“Mate,” Nick gives him a look that would be more deadpan if he wasn’t piss drunk. “You were mates in 2012, and that involved a lot of sex.”
“We’re trying something different,” Harry argues, shaking his head, which just makes the room he’s in spin. “Like proper mates, y’know?”
Nick nods, sagely. “Mates.”
“Mates.” Harry repeats, but mostly to himself.
*
Life on the road becomes routine quickly. Harry is glad that he already has a world tour under his belt, so he knows what to expect. The first time he toured without the lads, he was really lonely. This time he knows what to do, and how to occupy himself. His band keeps him company a lot, and Jeff travels with him most days, so he’s fine, really. He gets an itch sometime between Dublin and Glasgow, and he writes three songs, and thinks none of them are good.
He calls Zayn most nights. Usually it’s just to run down the high of his show, and Zayn is always good to bounce energy off. Even when they were younger, Zayn would always act as a neutralizer for Harry, and it’s no different now. Sometimes they talk about the new songs Harry is writing, and pointedly avoid talking about the new songs Zayn isn’t writing. There’s a lot of stories about Alia, and some stories about what Gigi is doing in the states, and Harry’s personal favorite: the ever evolving saga of whatever it is that Yolanda Hadid is doing on any given day.
“Good show?” Zayn asks, without pleasantries when Harry calls him from Glasgow. He can hear a crying baby, some shuffling, and a door closing. “Sorry about that, Saf’s here with my niece and it’s a lot of children at once.”
Harry smiles, settling into his hotel bed. “As long as it’s not my darling Alia crying.”
“I’m starting to think she likes you more than me,” Zayn says, and Harry could almost hear the pout that he knows is on Zayn’s face.
Harry chuckles. “She has taste.”
Zayn hums pleasantly. There’s a lull in the conversation while Harry gets ready for bed. Age is hitting Harry in ways that he doesn’t expect, and he can’t help but think about how the last time he was calling Zayn from hotel rooms around the world, they were teenagers and planning their night outs. Nowadays Harry falls asleep around 10 pm and Zayn is ready to call it a night around the time Alia starts getting cranky.
“It was nice celebrating her first birthday in Bradford,” Zayn says, as Harry gets back into bed. “Yolanda wasn’t happy, but she’s never happy.”
Harry stifles a yawn as he laughs. “To think that she could have been your mother in law if things ended up a bit different.”
Zayn goes silent and Harry wonders if he said the wrong thing, but then Zayn says, “You know, when I was thinking up all the scenarios of when I would see you again, the one I always thought about was how you’d be at my wedding.”
Harry quirks a brow, suddenly very interested in this conversation. “You were going to invite me to your wedding?”
“No,” Zayn admits, a little regretfully. Harry thinks that’s fair play considering three months ago, they might as well have been strangers. “Kendall would have been invited, and knowing how my life tends to play out, I figured you’d be her date.”
Harry snorts. “Please know that if you ever get married, I’m not coming to your wedding unless I’m somehow involved in it.”
“That can be arranged,” Zayn says, absentmindedly. “I might never get married at this rate.”
Harry yawns. “Join the club.”
“You never seemed the type to,” Zayn muses, quietly. Harry can feel the sleep taking over him, but he tries pushing through. “The marriage type, I mean.”
Harry closes his eyes, and considers it. He’s twenty seven now, and he doesn’t know what he actually wants. Marriage seems like such an abstract concept. It doesn’t help that Harry never dates anyone that he could get married to. “Hm, maybe one day. If we’re not married by fifty, we could always get married to each other.”
“Go to sleep, Haz.” Zayn chuckles, low and amused. He yawns, matching Harry’s own sleepiness.
Harry dreams about marriage, children, and country houses that night. The idea of owning a home in the English country side, married to the love of his life, with a daughter and a dog seems appealing for the first time in his life.
*
Harry can smell the cookies as soon as he walks into his mother’s house. He makes three steps into the door before Gemma practically topples him over by the force of her hug. He smiles into her hair when she holds him tightly, muttering something about how much she misses him. When she lets go, he sees his mother walk into the entry way. He kisses her on the cheek, and rests his head on top of her’s when she hugs him.
Home is home. It’s not the same house Harry grew up in, but his mother tried to preserve the same charm as the old house. Harry’s heart tugs when he sees Robin’s photos on top of the fireplace next to pictures of him and Gemma, and Gemma places a knowing hand on his shoulder. His room looks the same as ever, with the same posters, the same soft worn bed spread, and everything. Cheshire still feels like an isolated bubble, away from everything. Harry remembers shaking his head and turning down Jeff’s offer to put Harry up in a hotel in Manchester. It’s only a thirty minute drive, and being home is part of the reason this is his favorite gig. He has three days between the Manchester show and the Birmingham one, and he promised Zayn that he’ll stay at his place the last night.
He walks from the house to Robin’s bungalow that they still technically own, but nobody lives there anymore. Someone goes in once a month to clean it, but it exists as more of a memory than anything else. Harry smiles fondly when he thinks about the time he had with the lads there. Gemma joins him on the walk, and he notices the tired lines around her face. Her breakup hit her hard, and Harry couldn’t do anything from an ocean away. He misses her dearly, and he knows she feels the same way. It’s just that she doesn’t have the same distractions he has, and all her problems are unfortunately her own.
“Wish you could stay longer,” Gemma says, as they’re walking up the little hill towards the bungalow. “It would have been nice if you were around when, well, you know.”
Harry considers the idea of relocating back to England full time, but locks that up away for another day. Instead he says, “He was a dick.”
That gets a laugh out of Gemma, and Harry smiles. The September air is chilly around him, and he could just about make out the bungalow in the distance. Memories flood through of the boys, shy and nervous, trying out their first song together all those years ago. He remembers Zayn showing up three days late, and Liam practically considering the idea of kicking Zayn out of the band. Harry shudders thinking about that. He remembers Louis and Niall sneaking in a flask, and all of them drinking straight vodka and laughing about nothing in particular. He remembers swimming in the early hours of the morning, and Zayn being too scared to get into the water. He remembers Christmas with Robin, and his mother’s cookies. He remembers Gemma and him playing hide and seek, and Gemma always winning.
“I miss him,” Harry says, quietly. Gemma murmurs an agreement next to him, and Harry pulls her close against him. Harry remembers the days when Gemma was taller than him, using his head as an arm rest, and now he’s towering over her. “I missed you and mum too.”
Gemma looks up at him and smiles, gently. “Promise you’ll come home more often?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, earnestly. This tour feels as much about music as it does about making amends with the people he loves. Gemma gives him a warm smile.
*
Harry is nervous for the Manchester show, but he catches sight of Zayn next to Gemma and his mother, and all the nerves dissipate as quick as they came. He finds himself standing in the middle of the stage, grinning stupidly and feeling at home. Harry sings until his throat hurts, and he strums at his guitar until his calluses start peeling. The lights are blinding, but when he catches Zayn’s smile, they’re not even the brightest thing in the room. Harry knows it’s a risk, but he shouts out my good friend, Zayn Malik, and he knows there’s a million people across the world posting pictures of Zayn, in that moment, on the internet. When he walks off the stage, dripping in sweat, he feels like he’s walking on air.
Jeff hands him his phone back stage with a single text from Zayn.
You were brilliant. See you in Bradford.
Harry can’t keep the smile off his face. When he looks at Jeff, the other man shakes his head, impossibly fond.
“Check twitter,” Jeff tells him, patting him on the back, and walking off somewhere.
Harry checks twitter, and every version of his and Zayn’s name, along with Zarry are trending worldwide. In between all the fans being excited at their mini reunion, there’s something else. A few news outlets posting photos of them from the airport and various shots from around Los Angeles.
Harry Styles and Zayn Malik: Something More?
*
“Promise me that you’ll call, love.”
Harry hates goodbyes, and saying goodbye to his mother is the hardest. No matter how many times they had to do this, it still hurts the same. Anne’s eyes fill with tears as Harry is packing his things into Gemma’s car. Harry hugs his mother one last time. “Better yet, I’ll come by for Christmas.” He cherishes the way Anne’s face lights up at that.
The drive from Cheshire to Bradford is uneventful. Gemma shoots him several knowing looks that Harry tries his best to ignore. He stares out the window, as the farmland gives way to the Pennines. Gemma plays his album on repeat, but on the third loop, he changes it to something else. It’s a playlist that Gemma calls “the pinelist” filled with songs over the years that they both used to get over heartbreak. Gemma doesn’t complain, but she gives him a knowing look, but Harry doesn’t want to think about what she knows.
Harry gets out of the car, and grabs his duffle bag. His suitcases are still on the bus, which is parked somewhere in Manchester. It’s only one night. He hugs Gemma goodbye one last time before walking up the stairs to Zayn’s house. It’s the house that’s basically been immortalized in their film, complete with Trisha Malik’s tears. Harry feels his stomach turn in vague nervousness as he rings the bell. It only takes a minute until Waliyha opens the door. The second she sees him, her face breaks out into a grin.
“Harry!” Waliyha practically shouts, pulling him into a tight hug. Harry only has a moment to register it before he’s wrapping his hands around her. She pulls back, still smiling. “Harry Styles, in the flesh. Oh my god.”
Harry laughs. “Look at you all grown up.”
Waliyha’s cheeks turn pink, and Harry grins in amusement. He lets her lead him inside, telling him stories about what she’s been up to - college and no children, which can’t be said for anyone else in the family. He catches Yaser in the den watching a Manchester United game, and Harry winces when they concede. Yaser catches his reaction and shakes his head out of sheer frustration. Harry raises a hand as if to say hello, and lets Waliyha lead him further into the house. It’s when he walks into the living room that he sees Trisha walking out of the kitchen, spatula in hand.
“Oh Harry, you’ve grown so much,” Trisha says, cupping his face with her spare hand. “You’re so much taller than I remember.”
Harry dimples when he smiles. “I’m not sure about that, Mrs. Malik.”
“It’s Trisha for you,” she tells him sternly, and Harry smiles in response. Trisha makes a grab for his duffle bag, but Harry moves it out of the way. She rolls her eyes but smiles at him. “Let me show you your room. Zayn is in the shower. Our poor Alia had stomach problems, and she might have boked all over him.”
He follows Trisha up the stairs, with Waliyha trailing after him. She shows him the spare guest room that’s been made up completely for him. Harry takes in the smell of freshly washed linen. It’s the same room that he stayed in several times years back, but it feels different now. Trisha shows him around, pointing out the bathroom and where extra linen is stored, and Harry doesn’t have the heart to point out that it’s only for one night. Waliyha tags behind, excitedly telling him all about her favorite songs off his album, and how she was at his show in London.
“Not Manchester?” Harry asks her once Trisha leaves and he sets his bag down.
Waliyha pouts. “No, Zayn didn’t get me an extra ticket.”
“I’ll get you sorted next time,” Harry promises and Waliyha grins.
“Alright, leave him alone.”
Harry looks up towards the door to see Zayn leaning against the doorway, fresh from the shower. He has his jeans on, but he’s shirtless. Harry watches the water drops trail down from his hair down his jaw and neck to his chest. He swallows hard. Right, well. That’s a thing.
“Put some clothes on,” Waliyha says, sticking her tongue out at him. She glances between Harry and Zayn. “Right, well, I’m off then.”
Harry watches Waliyha whisper something to Zayn before walking down the hallway. Zayn shoots Harry a casual grin before standing in front of him. Harry could smell the scent of lavender body wash mixing with Zayn’s usual Armani cologne, and he can feel his entire body getting warm.
“C’mere,” Zayn murmurs, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry instinctively ducks his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck, taking in Zayn’s scent. “Missed you.”
Harry doesn’t lift his head when he says, “Missed you too.”
They stay like that for what feels like ages until Zayn’s hands finds their way into Harry’s hair, and Harry instinctively noses at Zayn’s jaw before lifting his head. Zayn’s arms are loosely draped around Harry’s shoulders, and he looks up at Harry, through dark never-ending lashes, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile. Harry knows that this is the part where he steps back, be the mate that he’s supposed to be, and not think about wanting to kiss Zayn. And yet, in that moment, Zayn’s expression turns into something so, so familiar and Harry can’t think about it anymore. Harry runs a finger along Zayn’s jaw.
“Harry.”
Harry kisses Zayn, long and hard, bringing a hand down to Zayn’s waist. Zayn wraps his hand around the curve of Harry’s neck and pulls them closer together. Harry pushes Zayn into a wall to kiss him more thoroughly, his hands sinking into Zayn’s hair, still wet from the shower. He nips at Zayn’s lower lip. It’s wet and hot, and Zayn's mouth is so warm when his tongue slides inside. Harry’s thoughts are racing in a hundred different directions, but the thing that he can cling to, always, is the sheer familiarity of it all. It might be nearly seven years since they’ve last done this, but Harry is still Harry and Zayn is still Zayn.
When they break apart, Zayn’s lips are pink and swollen. He shoots Harry a crooked smile, and Harry can feel his entire body relax. Zayn says, “Well.”
“Well.” Harry echos, sitting down on the bed.
Zayn sits down next to him, angling his chin so he’s looking at Harry. “You okay?”
“Somehow we always end up here,” Harry says, slightly dazed and maybe a lot confused. “Every time.”
Zayn hums. “Inevitable, really.”
“I don’t kiss all my mates, you know,” Harry offers, and Zayn lets out an amused cackle. Harry glares. “I’m not that much of a slag.”
“No, you aren’t,” Zayn concedes, smiling slightly. An expression flickers over Zayn’s face, like he’s considering Harry. “We could, you know, keep doing that.”
Harry quirks a brow. “Zayn.”
“With better communication,” Zayn says, raising a hand to silence Harry’s protest. “We’re not seeing anyone, and we know where we stand.”
“And we aren’t stupid teenagers,” Harry says, with a shrug. Zayn nods in agreement. Harry considers the offer on the table. The rational part of him is screaming to get out now, and that it’s not worth losing Zayn for half a decade again because he knows himself, and he knows they can’t keep doing this. The foolish part of him just wants to dive head first, to take whatever he can from Zayn because anything is better than nothing, and really, they are older. They’re mature - well, Zayn definitely is, and he’s single, which he hasn’t been for a long time. Despite everything screaming to the contrary, Harry nods. “Yes, okay. It’s a thing.”
“I should go put on a shirt,” Zayn says, standing up, patting Harry on the shoulder, like they’re old mates and not two recently reconnected friends who just negotiated the terms to a thing. Harry runs his eyes over the length of Zayn’s torso before meeting his eyes. Zayn tips Harry’s chin up rightly, and places a delicate kiss on his lips. Harry bites his lip, trying not to smile when Zayn steps back. “I’ll meet you downstairs, yeah?”
Harry nods, watching as Zayn walks out the guest room to his own room. Harry lies on the bed for a long moment after Zayn leaves, thinking. It’s not the worst setup, really. It’s not like he’s getting off with anyone these days, and it’s not like he wants to commit to a relationship - god forbid, with anyone. He knows himself well enough that he’s going to catch feelings again because Zayn is Zayn, and Harry has never been able to control all the feelings that go into every relationship he’s ever had with Zayn, but they are grown ups now.
*
Being with the Maliks is a close second to spending time with his own family, and Harry’s heart flutters a little thinking about how natural things are. Trisha and Yaser are as fond as ever of him which makes Harry hurt a little. He thinks about how many years have gone by since he’s fallen out with their son, and he wonders if they know how bad things got between them that they couldn’t even spend time in the same city anymore. Over the course of the night, he catches Yaser giving him a knowing, almost proud, smile. Harry smiles back, ducking his head. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous.
He spends the day watching football with Yaser and helping Trisha in the kitchen. He hangs out with Waliyha and Zayn, watching several episodes of a cooking show on Netflix. Little Alia is feeling under the weather, but Harry couldn’t even tell because she’s smiling bright and happy as soon as he walks into the room. Zayn mutters something about how daughter loves Harry more than him, and Harry shoots a smug grin at Zayn in response. At night, after everyone goes to bed, Harry sneaks into Zayn’s room, and things fall into place like they haven’t spent seven years apart. Like a drug he’s desperate for a shot of, Harry uses every second he has exploring every inch of Zayn’s body that he’s spent years committing to memory. They fall asleep with their legs tangled, and Zayn’s breath on his neck.
“I’m flying back to LA tomorrow,” Zayn tells him when they hug in Manchester in front of Harry’s tour bus. Harry nods, unable to say anything. “So, when do I get to see you again?”
It’s a question that hangs in the air because Harry doesn’t know, and Zayn knows that. There’s nineteen tour dates in Europe before Harry has a month off for the holidays, but that’s over two months away, and it’s two months too long.
“The next time is entirely too far away,” Harry says, with a sigh. “Are you sure you can’t come along for a few of the Europe dates?”
Zayn gives him a sympathetic glance, wrinkling his nose. “Trust me, if I could travel around Europe with you, I would. I just don’t think I can stay away from Alia that long.”
Harry smiles gently. “Yeah, I know - just, figured I’d ask.”
Harry can’t fault Zayn for it. If he has a daughter, especially one as perfect as Alia, he doesn’t think he would be able to go on tour again. He knows Alia misses her mother after two weeks in England, and he can’t imagine how confused her tiny brain would be at her father not being home from months on end. He can’t fault Zayn at all, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to pout about it on the bus.
Zayn glances both ways before he takes a step closer to Harry, and kisses him, gently and briefly. When they step back, Zayn has a smile on his face, and it’s the one Harry loves the most. The corners of his eyes crinkle in genuine happiness, and Harry can’t remember the last time he’s seen it, but it’s truly the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. Harry tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest when he says, “Tell Alia I’ll miss her.”
Zayn is about to say something, but right as he opens his mouth, Waliyha honks the horn of her car and shouts, “If I’m playing chauffeur, the least you could do is hurry the fuck up, and not kiss your boyfriend behind the tour van like you’re a bunch of teenagers.”
Boyfriend. Harry’s face warms at the thought, and he gets mild satisfaction at the tips of Zayn’s ears going pink. Zayn lets out a low chuckle and says, “Duty calls.”
Harry watches Waliyha’s car pull out of the parking lot before getting on the bus.
*
Harry thinks it’s funny that he’s spent most of his adult life missing Zayn in some way or another. When he was seventeen, home for the first time since the One Direction juggernaut started, and feeling out of place and lonely, and all he wanted to do was call Zayn. At eighteen, Zayn was profoundly unreachable, with a new girlfriend and a life so separate from Harry’s London life that neither of them knew how to approach the other. At nineteen, oceans separated them on every break - Harry lounging pool side in Los Angeles, while Zayn was in London trying to make a failing relationship work, and all Harry wanted to do was call him, ask Zayn to be with him because he could make Zayn happy if given the chance, and yet he couldn’t say the words. When they were twenty and twenty one, Harry started to miss Zayn even when they were in the same room, and conversations died down to simple exchanges about nothing in particular. Then there’s the six aching years of radio silence and petty comments for reasons Harry can’t even place anymore.
None of that prepares him for the agonizing feeling of missing Zayn now. Days on tour manage to somehow feel longer and shorter than the average day, and Harry is restless. He doesn’t sleep well on the bus normally, but he feels like he’s sleeping a lot less. Everything, in every city, starts to remind him of Zayn. In Birmingham, it’s the Gregg’s nacho chili cheese bake that he knows Zayn loves and in Paris, it’s ugly Louis Vuitton sneakers that he knows Zayn hates. He texts Zayn a picture of ugly Louis Vuitton sneakers in Paris, and Zayn sends back a thumbs up and a text about how he can’t comment negatively because they’re paying him. It’s not just Zayn though, it’s Alia, and the fact that she’s saying more words now and Harry isn’t there - which is weird because he really has no business being there. When Zayn sends him a video of Alia walking without support for the first time, he’s in Antwerp, and he cries for an hour.
*
Niall’s show overlaps with Harry’s show, so Harry texts him his hotel address, and orders room service while he waits. Niall shows up fifteen minutes late, which in the grand scheme of things, isn’t late at all. It’s a bit awkward when they hug, like they’ve forgotten how to hug each other, and when Niall smiles up at him, it’s a a little strange and a little different. Harry doesn’t know how or when things got so different, but he’s not happy about it, and judging from Niall’s frown, the other man isn’t either. He mentally calculates the last time he saw Niall, and judges that it’s been two years, if they ignore award shows that they’ve both been invited to.
“It’s been a while,” Harry says, handing Niall a beer. At least he still remembers Niall’s favorite. Niall laughs slightly, as he plops down on the bed. Harry sits down on the other side. “How have you been?”
Niall snickers. “Christ. You’ve been all over the place with Zayn, and you’re asking me how I am?”
“Alright, sue me for being polite,” Harry mutters, but he’s smiling despite himself. He’ll admit that the question is partially out of politeness because he knows the basics of Niall’s life. He knows about the album, and the tour. He knows that Niall is seeing an Irish TV presenter on the down low, and that the media haven’t gotten wind of it yet, much to Harry’s jealousy. Still, though. There’s things missing in the picture, and that’s what Harry wants to know. “I do want to know what you’re up to, you know.”
“Sure,” Niall agrees, easily enough. “It’s a bit hard to believe, but you’ve always been like that.”
Harry winces, laying on his back and closing his eyes. “I deserve that.”
“You do,” Niall tells him, mildly amused at Harry’s discomfort. “The new album is doing well, and the tour life is the best, you know?”
Harry hums, noncommittally. He’s not sure the tour life has been going as well as it could be going right now, but that’s for another day, and he’s not going to bore Niall about it. “It’s miles better than tour life back then.”
Niall wrinkles his nose. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It got pretty bad,” Harry points out, and Niall shrugs, and Harry decides to drop it because he’s not here to argue. “How are the lads?”
Harry doesn’t know where he stands with Louis and Liam anymore, and he has a vague feeling that behind closed doors, they’re saying things about him and Zayn that Niall knows, but won’t repeat. It’s not that they mean harm, but the years haven’t been kind to their friendship, and that can lead to bitterness. He would be lying if he didn’t say a sarcastic remark or two about his old bandmates to Jeff or Mitch.
“Freddie and Bear are basically mini versions of their dads,” Niall says, with a laugh. Harry’s heart tugs a little at how he doesn’t know this. “God, you should see the way Freddie picks on Bear. Poor kid. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Freddie throws a fit about Bear being too sensible sometime soon.”
“God, they might as well form a band and take over our legacy.” Harry genuinely laughs at that thought. “Zayn’s daughter is a right angel.”
“Anything to get you out of the reunion,” Niall says, with some amusement.
Harry exchanges a look with Niall, who smiles at him, and Harry can tell there’s nothing malicious behind it. He relaxes. There’s something about Niall’s expression that emboldens Harry to say, “You don’t want to go back either.”
“Oh,” Niall says, frowning a little. “No, I don’t think I do. Well, I don’t know, maybe for charity, I reckon.”
“Sure,” Harry says, with a shrug. Charities don’t count, anyone can do a one off show. He’s read Liam’s emails several times over, and there’s nothing about a charity show. Niall lays down on the bed, putting his beer on the side table. They’re just staring at the ceiling fan. Harry says, “Not a proper reunion though.”
“Not a proper reunion,” Niall agrees, bumping his shoulder lightly to Harry’s. “What about Zayn, then?”
The elephant in the room, as he’s been for years. The topic of Zayn between any of the others always feels unnecessarily heavy. This time though, there’s nothing dark in Niall’s voice, and it’s genuine curiosity.
Harry closes his eyes again. “I don’t think he would want to do a reunion, either.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Niall says, with a huff. Harry cracks an eye open to look at Niall, who meets his gaze. “So, what’s the status now?”
Harry considers his words for a moment. “It’s a thing.”
“A thing,” Niall says, slowly. There’s a hint of a smile as Niall rolls his eyes. “A proper thing or one of your usual things?”
Harry grimaces. “We’re not dating.”
“So, one of your usual things then.” Niall says, and Harry can hear the disappointment in Niall’s voice. Harry sighs. Niall props himself on to his elbows and looks down at Harry, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Why?”
“Why what?” Harry asks, looking away from Niall.
Niall shakes his head, laying back down. “Why aren’t you dating? I reckon this might be the first time ever that he’s not seeing anyone.”
“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “I don’t know what he wants. That’s always the problem - I never know what he wants, and I’m scared I want something more than he wants.”
Niall frowns up at the ceiling. “You could ask him.”
“I could.” Harry agrees. A silence passes over them, and Harry clears his throat. “I miss him so much.”
Niall lets out a huff before turning and smiling affectionately at Harry. “You’re a disaster.” A pause and then, “Talk to him. I promise you it’s not as bad as you think it’ll be.”
“We’ve never been good at talking,” Harry says, wistfully. Niall snorts. “Maybe we’ll be better this time around.”
“Can’t be worse than last time.” Niall points out.
They lay there for ages, talking about things, which mostly turns into Zayn talk because that’s how things usually end up being. At some point, Harry shares tidbits of his new music with Niall, which is something that he hasn’t with anyone but his team and Zayn, and Niall seems genuinely enthusiastic, despite the initial surprise. Niall tells him stories about Liam and Louis, but he stays artfully detached in the way that only Niall can manage. Harry mumbles something about how he can’t wait to see them, which is mostly a lie, but Niall doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he tells Harry that they can’t wait to catch up with him and Zayn, which is also a lie, but Harry doesn’t call him out on that either. Niall sneaks out at 2 AM, carefully avoiding the paparazzi, and Harry feels more content than he has in a while.
*
“You didn’t tell me you were in New York.”
Harry immediately asks, skipping any pleasantries when Zayn picks up his FaceTime call. He’s never been in Zayn’s New York apartment, which he bought after he left the band and left sometime before Harry returned to the picture. From what he can see, it’s all clean lines and open spaces. The kitchen is white and without personality, but he’s sure Zayn has a room in the house with comic book posters and where Zayn spray paints the walls.
“I didn’t know until this morning.” Zayn explains, lazily dropping his bag to the ground and sauntering into the kitchen. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a box of cereal. “Anna just told me to get to New York to do some photoshoot or another.”
Harry watches Zayn pour the cereal into a bowl and rolls his eyes. “Don’t eat that, it might be stale.”
“Says the man who ate an orange that he found in a lift.” Zayn scoffs, transferring a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. He makes a face and says, “It might be a little stale.”
“Told you,” Harry sing-songs, a little too happy at being right. “Besides, that was one time and the orange was mostly fine.”
Zayn makes a face. “You nearly ate a muffin someone threw on stage.”
“But I didn’t,” Harry points out, remembering that day.
“Only because Lou and I stopped you,” Zayn exasperates, fondly.
An idea crosses Harry’s mind at the mention of Louis’s name. “I think we should go to Niall’s gig in LA. It’s the day before mine.”
“Sure,” Zayn agrees, easily. Harry’s eyes widen in surprise because he really thought that it would take more convincing. “What - I think we’re cool, now.”
A silence drops over them, and Harry watches Zayn eat the cereal, looking more and more miserable with each passing spoon. Harry’s heart flutters a little at the sheer domesticity of it all, and how this is the Zayn that he’s never had a chance to experience. Tired from a flight, eating months old cereal like an idiot, and silently FaceTiming Harry and saying nothing in particular. Why aren’t you dating? Niall had asked, like it’s something so trivial and easy, and that he can’t wrap his head around why two people like Zayn and Harry can’t do relationships properly, least of all with each other. But right now, with Harry in Milan on a rainy day and Zayn in New York on a sunny one, the question hangs even heavier. Why can’t they?
“You’ve got your thinking face on.” Zayn says, and Harry realizes he’s spacing out.
Harry hums. “I have a terrible idea.”
“You usually do,” Zayn agrees, entirely too quickly, and Harry squawks in mock offense. Zayn laughs. “What’s going on?”
Harry wonders how he can approach the topic, and whether it’s best done in person. He settles on a middle ground. “I was just thinking that it might be nice if we went to Liam’s holiday party. Like, together.”
Liam throws a party every year, sometime between Christmas which everyone spends with their families, and New Years when everyone is in their city of choice celebrating the night with whoever their person of choice is. Harry doesn’t think he’s gone to one since 2013, and Zayn persisted for a year longer, but he knows Zayn hasn’t been to one since then. Yet, despite it all, Liam still sends them an invite every year, even if he doesn’t expect them to show up, and probably doesn’t know what to say if they do. Harry figures it’s time for some change, at least.
“Liam’s holiday party.” Zayn repeats, enunciating each word like it’s a curse. He furrows his brows in confusion. “Together.”
“Together.” Harry repeats, firmly. That’s what he wants. A date to an old bandmate’s holiday party. No pressure, low key, and probably just about toeing on the right side of what’s acceptable.
He watches the gears in Zayn’s head turn, and how Zayn goes through every emotion at once. There’s a tiny smile playing on Zayn’s lips, as he runs a hand through his hair which is getting longer than Harry’s now. “Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.”
Harry releases a breath that he doesn’t know he was holding, smiles, blinding and dimpling. Almost like it’s an infection, Zayn smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. A warmth settles over them, and Harry doesn’t feel like he’s missing Zayn all that much anymore because this is the most here Zayn has been for a long time.
*
Milan gives way to a chilly gigs in Dusseldorf and Bern. Harry often wondered how tour dates are set up, and he thinks it has something to do with the weather. Playing gigs in Europe in October and November is about as appealing as root canal, but still, it minimizes the flight times between where he is and home, even if LA starts to feel more like home than London these days.
He gets news of Zayn rescheduling his own tour to 2022, which worries him a lot more than he wants to admit. He has ideas of why Zayn does the things he does, but he still worries. A part of him hates that he got the news from a newsletter and not Zayn himself, but he knows Zayn doesn’t want to talk about what’s happening. But, it’s been too long and there’s been too many signs, and Harry knows he has to push. He calls Zayn from his hotel room, after he orders his room service.
“Don’t say it.” Zayn says, picking up Harry’s call from - well, he doesn’t actually know what city he’s in anymore. Maybe Barcelona. “It’s only a few months away.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Harry argues, and Zayn snorts calling out his bluff. Harry softens. “We have to talk about it, y’know. At some point you’ll need to get back to work, or Anna will have your head.”
Zayn sighs. “I want to retire.”
“Retire.” Harry says, nearly choking on his food. Zayn makes a noise of worry from the other end. “Retire.”
“That’s what I said.” Zayn’s voice is carefully blank.
Harry narrows his eyes, thoughtfully. “What’s this about, then?”
“Nothing,” Zayn says, and Harry knows it’s a lie. A beat. “Fine, I just - I don’t know, I haven’t been feeling it.”
“It being?” Harry prompts, carefully. There’s always a balance with Zayn that he’s grown to learn. He needs to prompt and prod because Zayn on his own won’t say anything, and will let whatever dark thoughts he’s having fester in his own brain. But if he pushes too far, Zayn closes off, scared of being open. It’s an art form that nobody’s managed to master yet, but Harry thinks he’s getting a hang of it.
Zayn doesn’t say anything for a while, but Harry waits, and then, “Being who I’m supposed to be.” Harry nods soberly, relating to that profoundly. Zayn elaborates, “When the first album dropped, I felt like I was doing something right, and it felt good to have that freedom, but then anxiety settled in and I couldn’t tour it.”
Harry desperately wishes that they could have this conversation in person, so he could hug Zayn. Instead, he says, “It was only a year after the band, and you were burned out.”
“Yeah well.” Zayn starts, but pauses, probably looking for the right words. “The second album was the opposite, you know. I was actually ready to go on tour then, but the album didn’t feel right.”
“It was a good album.”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t.” Zayn says, with a sigh. “It’s just - it was a bit sad, wasn’t it? And I was trying really hard not to be sad anymore.”
Harry understands and makes a noise trying to convey that. Zayn gets it though and continues. “Now, I don’t know. Obviously, none of us could tour last year, and then Alia is in the picture now, and nothing feels right.”
Harry frowns. “You don’t have to do the full nine yards, y’know. You could just do a few dates in the UK and in the states.”
“I could.” Zayn says, a little distantly. “I just don’t know if I could do it by myself. I’ve never done it before, and you know how I get.”
Harry remembers the first time he went on tour by himself, and how nerve wrecking it was knowing he has all the controls in his hands, and that he can do whatever he wants. Yet, with that level of freedom comes the knowledge that all eyes are on him now, and that there aren’t four other boys that could take some of the energy off him. Harry knows he’s born for the stage, and he can absorb that energy like a champion. Zayn is different. When they were younger, Harry got nervous the easiest during his solos, but Zayn had the hardest time getting on the stage itself. Zayn always needs a distraction, something to draw the attention away from him, so that he could do what he does best.
“You could always invent a stage personality a la the Gorillaz,” Harry suggests, mostly as a joke. A cartoon version of Zayn on stage, while the real Zayn hides in the shadows and sings his heart out. It could work, really. He expects Zayn to scoff at the idea immediately, but Zayn is silent on the other end. Harry squints. “You’re actually considering that, aren’t you?”
Zayn laughs, almost in spite of himself. “It’s an idea. I know this graphic designer in New York, totally brilliant and looking for a job. I could get creative about it.”
“Your fans might miss seeing your pretty face,” Harry teases, and Zayn laughs more genuinely this time. “So, are we putting retirement chat to bed then?”
A pause. “There’s still Alia. I don’t know if I want to leave her with the Hadids for months on end. Yolanda will try to put her in some child pageant, and Gigi won’t be able to stop her.”
“I could look after her.” Harry says, without thinking, poking at his long forgotten food. He hears Zayn’s breath hitch on the other end, and realization dawns on Harry. He hears his own words again, and he didn’t realize it was true until that moment, but it is. It really is. Softly, he says, “I mean, the offer is on the table.”
“Harry.” Zayn’s voice is impossibly gentle and tender that it fills Harry with a kind of warmth that he didn’t know was possible. “Don’t promise these things.”
“Zayn.” Harry copies Zayn’s tone, out of affection. “I’m great with kids, and if it’ll keep Anna from murdering you in your sleep, consider it a double win for me.”
A long pause, and Harry considers the fact that he might have stepped over a boundary. It’s not like Alia is his daughter, and it’s not like he has any right to step into Zayn’s life in such a big way, especially since they haven’t even gone out yet. Save for mind blowing phone sex across Europe, nothing is really all that different, and this is a commitment so far out of proportion that Harry won’t even blame Zayn if he rejects it.
“We have to plan a lot of logistics.” Zayn breaks the silence thoughtfully. “Not just with you and me, but Gigi too. It’ll be complicated.”
Harry snorts, ugly and sincere. “Me watching your child while you’re promoting your album for a few months is hardly the most complicated thing I had to deal with when it comes to you.”
“We have to baby proof your Malibu house,” Zayn says, not pushing at the past. “And you’re not going to have a social life for two weeks every month.”
“I can live with that.” Harry says, genuinely.
Zayn sighs. “Yeah, okay, let’s talk about this when you get home, yeah?”
Harry hangs up, with a smile on his face. Home.
*
Harry picks up Zayn from Heathrow on Christmas Eve, feeling lighter than he has in a long time. The nearly three weeks he got to spend with his mother and Gemma really lifted his spirits. The daily photos he got of Alia dressed up in various holiday outfits, not just from Zayn but oddly, Gigi, put him right into a holiday mood. He’s never been the biggest Christmas person. His parents got divorced around that time, and the holidays never really felt like anything important. Once he was in the band, the two weeks he got at home were mostly spent sleeping and desperately waiting to get back to London and his friends. Nowadays though, he appreciates what he gets out of it.
“‘Arry!”
Harry nearly collapses at hearing Alia’s voice from where Zayn is holding her, He widens his eyes and looks at Zayn. Zayn smiles, sheepishly. “Yeah, she learned a new word.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me that it’s my name?” Harry squeaks, looking at Alia. She’s really the spitting image of Zayn these days, albeit with Gigi’s eyes. Zayn laughs, and its music to Harry’s ears. He focuses on Alia when he says, “Sweetheart, can you say my name again?”
She just pouts at him before turning back to lay her head on to Zayn’s shoulders. Harry lets out a whine and Zayn pulls him into a hug. Harry knows there’s cameras from all angles, despite Heathrow being stupidly busy with the holiday rush. Two members of One Direction can’t be in the same room without all eyes on them, despite it being nearly seven years since they’ve been a band. Harry can’t bring himself to care, and judging by Zayn’s carefree smile, he doesn’t think Zayn cares either.
“Did you miss me?” Zayn asks, with a crooked smile.
Harry keeps his gaze steady, as he holds out a hand to help with Zayn’s luggage. He nods at Alia, who’s almost falling asleep. “No, but I missed her.”
“You’re terrible,” Zayn tells him, silently protesting Harry’s insistence that he help Zayn with his bags. They’re walking out of Heathrow to where Harry’s car is parked. The camera lights are blinding and Zayn ducks his head to avoid pictures, carefully making sure that Alia’s face isn’t visible either. “I forgot how much I hate this.”
Harry mumbles, “There’s going to be talk.”
Zayn just shrugs. Harry parked his car in a strategic location, away from the cameras. A part of him thinks he should have taken up Jeff’s offer of security, but that’s just more people around, and he hasn’t seen Zayn in the flesh in months. Zayn buckles Alia into a child seat in the backseat of Harry’s Audi, raising a brow at Harry.
“I figured I’d invest,” Harry says, as casually as he can manage. Zayn just eyes him curiously before getting in the passenger seat. They drive in silence to Zayn’s flat, where his family are waiting, deciding to spend Christmas in London instead of Bradford. His own family is in town too. It’s a proper Christmas for the first time in ages, Harry realizes. “We should go out tonight. London is always nice on Christmas Eve.”
“Sure.” Zayn says, quietly staring out the window at the passing familiarity of London. He has that distant look he sometimes gets where he’s thinking about something, but he doesn’t want to share. Harry eyes him curiously from the corner of his eyes. Zayn sighs. “It’s nice to be back here.”
Harry nods. “I could do with spending more time in England.”
“We should do that.” Zayn says, as Faithfully by Journey blasts over the radio. Zayn humming the melody and Harry filling in the vocals, easy as ever. Harry’s mind is stuck on how they’ve become a we.
*
London is bitterly cold during December. Two straight years of Los Angeles Christmases don’t prepare Harry for it, and he has to admit he’s out of habit with being this cold. Almost like the city wanted to set an ambience, snow starts falling, fluffy and white, and reflecting back the glow of the street lamps. London is still, for once, even if it’s Christmas Eve. Zayn has a gray overcoat and a flat cap on when he walks out of his flat to where Harry is waiting.
“Been watching Peaky Blinders, have you?” Harry asks, wrinkling his nose and eyeing Zayn’s hat.
Zayn grins, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets for extra warmth. “Do I pull it off?”
“Nobody outside the midlands in the 1920s pull it off,” Harry snickers, but when Zayn shoots him a mock hurt look, Harry grins. “But, you’re probably the person most likely to make it work.”
Zayn smiles, all lop sided and happy. “Yeah, you don’t look so bad yourself.”
Harry feels the warmth radiating off Zayn, who looks soft and impossibly pretty under the London street lights. They walk side by side, down the deserted Knightsbridge streets, the Harrods Christmas display lighting up in the distance. Their hands brush, and Harry wonders how it would be if he just grabbed Zayn’s hand right now, right here. He doesn’t have to wonder for long because Zayn reaches for it, small hand slotting easily into Harry’s. Harry looks sideways at Zayn, who looks wistfully ahead, and Harry smiles to himself.
“I like this,” Zayn says, voice barely above a whisper, as they pass by the puppet shows and carols outside Harrods. Harry thinks he’s talking about the puppet show, but Zayn’s brown eyes are fixed on him. Harry can feel his face warming in the cold London air.
Harry doesn’t have anything planned, but Zayn seems okay with that. The Christmas market at Hyde Park is bright and open, and filled with a lot of people. Nobody pays attention to them, as Harry orders mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. People are caroling in the distance, and Paddington is on the ice skating rink. Zayn buys little trinkets at the shops, and Harry takes pictures of everything he can.
“I came here with Perrie once,” Zayn says when they pass by the karaoke bar. Zayn has a frown on his face. “Me and her got into a massive row that Christmas. You remember?”
Harry remembers it vividly. Not what the fight was about, but he remembers Zayn calling him and asking if he could come to his flat. Harry couldn’t because he was in LA. “I remember.”
“I bought Taylor here once,” Harry says, after a minute when they fall into a silence. Zayn has an amused smile playing on his face. Harry shakes his head. “I think I bought everyone here at some point or another.”
“Here I thought I was special.” Zayn says, with a smirk. His eyes are practically sparkling under the blue lights of the Christmas displays.
Harry hums, his heart racing. “You could be.”
“I’d like to be, I think.” Zayn says, casually, looking at the window displays they’re passing by. “It could be nice if we did this for real.”
Zayn lets the statement hang in the air. They’ve been dancing around it for a while, and Harry knows what it means. He runs his spare hand through his hair. “Dating me is going to complicate your life.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Zayn says firmly, squeezing Harry’s hands. Harry eyes him curiously. Zayn shrugs. “It’s not like dating me is a walk in the park, either.”
“No, it’s not.” Harry says, without skipping a beat. That gets a laugh out of Zayn. Harry feels like his chest is too full to breath. Harry takes a step to the side, pulling Zayn closer, so that they’re facing each other, away from the crowds of children running around with street food. He closes the distance between them, grabs Zayn’s hip, pulling him into a delicate kiss. Zayn’s hands settle onto Harry’s waist easily, a smile on his lips as Harry catches them. When they break apart, Zayn is smiling at him, inexpressibly sweet and honest. Harry knows he’s dimpling when he says, “I’d really like to date you, Zayn Malik.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything but skips ahead, pulling Harry behind him, and Harry could get used to the extra bounce in Zayn’s steps these days. For too long, Zayn has been unhappy, and Harry doesn’t like to think about how much of that is his fault. They talk a lot, which is a nice change of pace. Zayn is finally coming around to the idea of touring, and Harry is happy for him. They talk about books they’re reading now, and Harry mentally stores all the authors and titles Zayn is listing off because he wants to know. Zayn updates him on the graphic designer in New York, and cartoon designs he’s working on for the new Zayn Malik experience. Harry lets Zayn in on the little secret that his mother is finally seeing people again, which is nice. They talk about Doniya and Safaa’s children, and how Waliyha is taking great pride is being the only Malik without a child. They talk, and talk, and talk that it makes up for those long months in the band when they didn’t talk at all.
*
“So, Liam’s party.” Zayn says, as they pick up grilled salmon at the Bavarian village. Harry picks at his food, but doesn’t say anything. “You alright seeing them again?”
Harry shrugs. “At least Niall will be there."
“I talked to Niall over the summer,” Zayn says, with a hint of a smile. “He’s a good guy.”
“Our Niall always knew how to play nice with everyone,” Harry agrees. God bless Niall. He eyes Zayn, who has that same faraway look he sometimes gets when he’s anxious. Harry narrows his eyes, thoughtfully. “Are you alright seeing them again?”
“I think I fell out with Liam,” Zayn says, frowning slightly, like it’s news to even himself which confuses Harry just a bit. Zayn falling out with people isn’t exactly news anymore. He’s more shocked that Zayn actually talked to any of them enough to actually fall out with them. “I think he was mad on Louis’s behalf.”
“Yeah, they do that,” Harry says, cautiously. He knows that all too well.
Zayn frowns.
“I think it’s because they have expectations for you and you let them down,” Harry explains, and Zayn sighs sadly, and Harry throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “I think that’s the difference between you and me - they stopped expecting anything decent from me.”
Zayn wrinkles his nose. “You’re not so bad.”
“I’d hope you’d say that,” Harry says, laughing, and Zayn relaxes under Harry’s arms. Softly, Harry says, “Forget about them just for tonight, yeah?”
Zayn nods, biting his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah, sure.”
They have time to think about the others over the next few days, and how they can build bridges, if they want to. But, Harry doesn’t want to open that can of worms tonight, not when he has Zayn in his arms. Tonight he wants to take Zayn home, take that ridiculous flat cap off him along with the rest of his clothes, and have slow, lazy sex. Then he wants to do it all over again in the morning because for once in his life, he feels like he has the right to do that. For once, it feels like they have all the time in the world.
*
Zayn Malik and Harry Styles Spend a Cozy Christmas Together: Former Boybanders spotted kissing in Hyde Park
“The laziness of the Mail,” Zayn mumbles, with a tsk, from the bed. Harry sticks his head out of the bathroom to look at Zayn sprawled over the sheets, in his boxers with tousled hair. Zayn looks up from his phone. “Photos from last night in The Sun, The Mail, and the Mirror.”
Harry shrugs, going back into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. When he walks out, Zayn has a pair of sweatpants - definitely Harry’s, slung low on his waist, and he’s stretching his back, looking out the window at a still, grey London town. Harry walks over, wrapping both arms around Zayn’s waist and pulling him back so that Harry’s wrapped around him. Zayn leans back against Harry’s chest, smiling slightly.
“So those pictures,” Zayn starts, a little uncertainly. “They’re everywhere.”
Harry places a light kiss to Zayn’s temple. “Do we care?”
Harry doesn’t know where he stands. He’s out, for the most part, but he doesn’t want to subject Zayn to the media circus if he’s not comfortable, and he definitely doesn’t want to be the reason that Zayn is outed to the world. They can do something about it, like they always do. They have people for these things, and it’s not too late to send out injunctions, if Zayn wants it.
Zayn is silent for a moment and Harry tightens his hold just a bit. Zayn turns in his arms till he’s facing Harry, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t either,” Harry replies, with a smile, closing the distance between them. Zayn turns his face up to deepen the kiss, slow and lingering. Harry closes his eyes, taking in the moment for what it is.
*
Christmas with his mother and sister is lovely as ever. They don’t do presents anymore because it’s hard for his mother to get Harry anything he can’t buy himself, and Harry finds that they feel guilty when he buys them things. The time spent together is gift enough, at least that’s what his mother always insists, and considering the last few years, Harry can’t argue it.
Harry finishes hanging up a phone call with his father when his mother wraps an arm around his waist and settles close to him, as they look at the fireplace cracking.
“So, Zayn is a lovely boy,” she says, soft and tentative, like she’s not sure if it’s her place to comment on anything. Harry feels his whole body warm and his face flush. She gives him a gentle smile, fingers tightening their hold in reassurance. “I did tell Trisha Malik once that you two will figure it out eventually.”
Harry gapes. “When?”
“2015.” Anne gives him a knowing look, and Harry feels his jaw drop in shock. His mother smiles, explaining, “You were so hurt, Harry, and so was Zayn. We didn’t know what to do, and we couldn’t see you both hurt.”
“I really wish I reached out back then.” Harry muses, not caring if his mother sees this side of him. When he looks at her, she still has the same knowing smile on her face. “We would have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”
Anne’s eyes twinkle. “Maybe we would be planning your wedding right about now.”
“Mum,” Harry balks, eyes widening. Anne’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “He’s not even my boyfriend yet.”
Anne laughs. “Love, I know you don’t like putting labels on anything, but I think you should on this one.”
*
December 2016
No matter how many times he comes back to X-Factor, whether it’s as a guest or as a performer, Harry still feels the same rush he felt when he was sixteen and with the world ahead of him. He’s here for Louis this time. He told his assistant to book out his calendar for this day, and he flew in from LA in the morning. The anxiety of seeing his band mates - his brothers, he wants to say still hangs in the air. He sees Niall first, tired lines around his eyes but generally happy. They hug and talk about how things are, and how they’re heartbroken for Louis. Liam is next, and it’s pleasant if a bit short. They talk about Louis, Cheryl, and how he’s going to be a father soon. It’s all a bit perfunctory, but Harry will take it. He keeps looking around for Zayn, and on stage during Louis’s performance, he can see Louis scanning the room. Harry hopes Zayn snuck in through a back door and he’s somewhere.
He’s not. Liam is upset.
“It’s not a matter of office politics, it’s a matter of support,” Liam argues backstage, after the show while they wait for Louis. Niall hums in agreement, but Harry stays silent. He doesn’t know why Zayn does the things he does. Liam turns to look at him. “Oh, don’t defend him now. You would expect your friends to support you when your mum dies.”
“I said nothing,” Harry shoots back, plainly. He really hopes nobody is listening in on them. The last thing anyone needs is a story about how members of One Direction got into a fight backstage at X-Factor. Liam looks proper mad though, and Harry sighs. “Look, we haven’t exactly been great friends to Zayn, either. It’s not like any of us stepped in when shit got really bad for him, so I can see why he can’t be bothered.”
A silence falls between them. Harry hopes Niall would say something because even at the worst of situations, Niall can diffuse things with the right words. But, no words come this time. Niall seems to think this is between Liam and Harry, and probably Zayn and Louis.
“I always checked in on him,” Liam says, quietly and sadly. “Even when you were prancing off to LA when he wanted you to stay in London with him.” Liam doesn’t mean for it to come out harsh, and to be fair to him, it doesn’t. But it cuts through Harry like a sword.
“What’s going on?”
Harry turns to look at Louis coming backstage, and they all hug him and it feels like old times again briefly. At least until Louis looks around and his face falls.
“Zayn didn’t come.”
Niall and Harry exchange a look and Liam says, “If he did, he snuck out before seeing us.”
They all know he didn’t show. Louis’s face twists slightly. Harry knows him well enough to know it’s somewhere between anger and sadness, and his heart hurts a little. He wishes they would make up. He doesn’t like seeing them sad, even if he’s not particularly close to either of them anymore. Zayn and Louis always had something special, the kind of friendship that Harry doesn’t know if he’ll ever have.
“Right well,” Louis says, after a minute. Harry can tell he’s still sad, but they’re in public, and they’re not going to make a scene. Not over Zayn, at least. “I’m about to head back to mine. You lads up for weed, beer, and cards?”
“I fly back to LA in like 4 hours, so I should get to Heathrow,” Harry says, apologetically. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you the next time I’m in England, yeah?”
“You’re leaving already?” Louis asks, confusion etched all over his face. Over his shoulder, Liam shoots a look at Harry, somewhere between a glare and pity. “What the fuck, mate.”
“Look, I have meetings tomorrow,” Harry rushes to explain. He’s working, it’s not like he’s abandoning his friends on purpose. He would have understood. “I had to move things around so I could be here today, but I can’t just stay in London.”
“Oh, sorry for being such a burden,” Louis says, snidely. Harry rolls his eyes. Louis glares. “Well, go on then. Don’t wanna keep you from your precious flight.”
“Don’t be like that,” Harry says, softly. Louis crosses his arms over his chest and looks at him blankly. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“I’m really sorry about your mum,” Harry offers, and he really is. He’s kicking himself for being a dramatic fuck right in the middle of his friend going through something so horrific that Harry can’t even imagine to comprehend.
“Thank you,” Louis says, but his tone is petulant.
It’s not until much later when he’s in the airport waiting for his flight that he feels the rush of everything all at once. God you absolute imbecile, he thinks. He debates postponing his meetings for another week, and spending a few days in London. He hasn’t seen any of his friends for a while, least of all the lads. But despite it all, Harry feels comfortable in California in a way he hasn’t anywhere since he was sixteen. It’s a stretch to call it home, but LA feels as close as to a place he belongs as any, and he’s in the middle of writing an album, which really is the reason he can’t stay in London.
*
Alia is crankier than Harry has ever seen her when they’re putting her in the car. Harry thinks it’s because it’s a different car than she’s used to, and all the scenery changes are just too much for a fifteen month old. Zayn, on the other hand, thinks it’s a sign that going to Liam’s holiday party is a bad idea. Zayn doesn’t know why they need to take her along, but Harry insists it’s only fair because they’re meeting Louis and Liam’s kids for the first time. She’ll be meeting her cousins for the first time, Harry had snickered.
Alia falls asleep quickly, and Zayn quickly follows suit. It’s not until they get on the M3 that Zayn wakes up, silently staring out the window as London gives way to Surrey. Harry reaches out to gently touch Zayn’s elbow. “You good?”
“Tory territory,” Zayn says, with a wrinkle of his nose.
Harry laughs. “Don’t tell Liam that.”
“No religion, no politics.” Zayn states the old mantra on cue. Harry shudders, an apology on the tip of his tongue. Zayn is still staring out the window, distracted. Harry moves his hand, mindfully keeping his eyes on the road, and places it on Zayn’s thigh. Zayn sighs next to him. “I can’t tell if this is a good idea or not.”
Harry nods, careful not to show his own anxieties at having to see the lads again. He can hide it well though behind a polite, albeit distant, smile. Zayn wears his emotions on his sleeve, and sometimes he doesn’t know what emotions hit him at what time. Harry lets out a wry laugh. “Only one way to find out.”
*
Liam’s country home is a sprawling estate on acres of land, far away from everyone. Harry thinks it’s all a bit much and a bit too far away from London for his own taste, but Zayn’s old house had been close by, and Zayn stares up at the house, a little wistfully.
“Wow,” Liam says when he opens the door, surprise all over his face. Liam looks between the two of them, and Harry feels Zayn shift awkwardly next to him. Alia lets out a sniffle. Liam says, “I didn’t know you lads were coming today.”
Harry opens his mouth to say something but Zayn is just a bit faster. “We can - uh, we can go.”
Harry gapes at Zayn, who shoots him a look of pure panic, which Harry responds with a look of his own. Liam clears his throat and shakes his head, and smiles at them, and Harry almost believes it’s genuine. “No, of course not. You two are always welcome here.”
Liam reaches out and pulls Harry into a half hug, mostly patting him on the back. He turns to Zayn, who still looks somewhat anxious, and hugs him properly. Liam turns to Alia, in Zayn’s arms, and coos. “And who’s this?”
“Alia,” Harry tells Liam when it’s clear that Zayn hasn’t quite found his words yet. Liam waves at Alia, making a face at her, and she just stares at him for a moment before ducking her head into the crook of Zayn’s neck. Harry laughs. “She’s a bit shy.”
Liam smiles softly at her before tilting his head towards the door, and leading them into his home. The house is decorated for the holidays, with a massive Christmas tree filled with an assortment of ornaments that range from designer to the ones passed down the family over the years. There’s two stockings over the fireplace, with Cheryl’s notably missing, but Harry notices her in the corner talking to two other members of Girls Aloud. Two boys, clearly Bear and Freddie, sit at the foot of the tree playing with toy cars. Harry watches Alia eye them curiously. The bar is self serve, with various bottles decorating the table. There’s a buffet table that Harry is more than ready to attack.
“It’s pretty lowkey this year,” Liam explains, as he’s guiding them towards the bar. “Just family and friends, you know?”
Harry can’t help but feel a little embarrassed, like they’re here as a mistake. Zayn, however, just nods. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Of course,” Liam says, brows furrowing in confusion. “You lads are family, you know? Nobody can go through what we did without it being forever.”
Zayn smiles, slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe that. Neither does Harry, if he’s being honest, but neither of them will say that. They don’t get to say much of anything when a familiar voice calls out behind them. “Styles and Malik, in the flesh!”
Harry turns around and comes face to face with Louis, who isn’t quite smiling, but he doesn’t look as antagonistic as Harry expects, all things considered. He sees Zayn freeze next to him again, and gently bumps his hand to Zayn’s, wrapping his pinky around Zayn’s. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Louis who squints, looking between the two of them.
“So, is this a thing, now?” Louis demands, but not unkindly. Zayn and Harry exchange a look, but don’t say anything. After a beat, Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Alright, keep your secrets.”
Zayn relaxes. “Hi, Louis.” Harry raises a hand in acknowledgment as well.
“Zayn,” Louis says, softly. “I think it’s high time we caught up, isn’t it?”
Zayn shoots Harry a look and Harry nods. He turns around, and reaches for Alia. He nods at Louis, who nods back with a cool smile. Harry turns to Zayn and says, “I’ll take her off your hands, then.”
Alia settles into his arms, easily. Harry stalks over to the bar, where he spots a familiar head of dark hair. On the way, he sees Cheryl talking to her old bandmates to the side, and a bitter taste settles into Harry’s stomach. Girls Aloud, not together, and only three members ever on speaking terms at the same time - is that their future? Harry nearly bumps into Eleanor, with a ring on her finger, and she gives him a small smile in recognition. Harry nods and smiles back. He remembers when they could call themselves friends, even if they were never close. After all, it’s through him that she met Louis, and judging by the ring, that’s clearly going well.
“Thank god you’re here,” Harry tells Niall, who is mixing a rum and coke.
Niall looks up from his drink and smiles at Harry, pulling out another glass and pouring a drink for Harry. “Pal, you’re the one that never comes to these things.”
“We’re trying to make amends,” Harry says with a. shrug, taking the drink that Niall hands to him. He eyes Zayn and Louis talking by the sofas, and Zayn says something that makes Louis frown. He turns back to Niall, who is making silly faces at Alia. Harry smiles fondly. “She’s a right angel. Looks just like Zayn, too.”
“She seems it,” Niall agrees, affectionately. “Step dad duties look good on you, Haz.”
Harry nearly chokes on his drink. “It’s not like that.”
“But you’re together?” Niall asks, slowly, as if he’s overstepping a line. “I saw the pictures of you guys in Hyde Park.”
Harry lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Probably not the best way to tell the world, but he seems okay with it.”
Niall is about to say something when Alia pokes at Harry’s face. “‘Arry.”
“Hm?” Harry mumbles, and Alia just points to where Freddie and Bear are playing. Harry laughs, and starts walking in the direction of the kids with Niall following behind him. He lets Alia down to the ground, and she walks over slowly to where the boys are playing, and plops down next to them. Bear seems eager to share his toys with her, but Freddie, a little older, is suspicious. Harry laughs. “They really are Louis and Liam’s mini me’s.”
“You should see them fight,” Niall laughs, and Harry feels the same uncomfortable twist at missing that. “I wonder how my kid will be.”
“Probably friends with everyone,” Harry says without missing a beat. His eyes scan over to where Louis and Zayn are still talking, but this time Zayn is smiling. Harry relaxes, hoping that whatever they needed to talk about is working itself out. Niall follows his gaze and gives Harry a knowing look. Harry shrugs. “I think he really expected them to hate him.”
Niall matches his shrug. “I think they did for a while.”
“I hope they work it out,” Harry says, sincerely. Niall tilts his head. Harry elaborates, “It would be good if we can put the past behind us, and be friends again. Even if it’s not the same anymore.”
Niall laughs. “It’s probably time we grew the fuck up and met in the middle somewhere.”
*
“- it’s more complicated than Liam would have liked, that’s for sure.” Niall tells him, sticking a fork into his chicken. Harry makes a sympathetic noise, as Niall fills him in on the situation with Cheryl and Liam, and the ensuing custody battle over Bear. Harry isn’t really one for gossip from the outside world, but he does like knowing what’s going on with his friends, even if they insist on not telling him anything. Niall looks up from his plate and frowns. “Don’t tell him I told you though, yeah? It’s not exactly a secret, but he’s not big on talking about it.”
“You know me,” Harry says, with a shrug. He spoons some of the mash potatoes and feeds Alia. “I never say anything.”
Niall laughs. “That’s an understatement, mate.”
Harry scans the room, lazily. Liam wasn’t kidding when he said that the party was lowkey. It’s mostly people that Harry knows, even if he’s not particularly close to anyone. Everyone has kids these days, so there’s toddlers running around, even if there’s a makeshift playpen for them. His gaze falls on to the open study door, where Zayn and Louis are talking to Liam. Harry shoves Niall, slightly, and tilts his head towards the study. He watches Niall frown, and then he watches Zayn frown. He sighs, feeding the last bit of potatoes to Alia. He picks her up, and drops her off in the playpen, next to Bear who immediately hands her a stuffed animal, and Alia laughs happily.
“Time to go save my boyfriend,” Harry tells Niall before pausing. Harry grins. “Huh, I think I like the sound of that.”
Niall rolls his eyes, but he’s fond. “It’s about bloody time.”
Harry walks over to the study, a wine glass in hand, and Niall trailing behind him. As soon as they walk in, Louis stops mid conversation and Liam raises a hand in acknowledgment. Harry gives Zayn a look, as Niall settles in on the chair by the desk. Harry asks, “Are we all good here, lads?”
Liam nods. “It’s good that you boys came here today because there’s something we wanted to talk about.”
Harry’s eyes flicker towards Zayn, who looks vaguely irritated, and then towards Niall, who doesn’t look surprised but definitely unhappy. Harry sighs. Before he can say anything though, it’s Louis who speaks. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase because if I leave it to Liam here, we’d be here all night. We think it might be a good idea if we all collaborated next year on something.”
Zayn frowns. “You mean, get the band together?”
“Louis,” Liam warns, but Louis doesn’t pay him any attention as he says, “Not together proper, but I think we should do something, for the fans, you know?”
Harry lets out a breath he doesn’t think he’s holding, while Zayn shakes his head, firmly. Louis groans. “Come on, lads. You lot finally sorted your shit out, so what’s the problem?”
Zayn snorts. “How about the fact that Harry has a tour that runs till June, and then I’ll probably be off for a few months, and we have a toddler at home.”
“There’s also the fact that the last time we were collaborating, it was a shit show.” Harry points out, ignoring the way the pit of his stomach flutters at we have a toddler at home, focusing steadily on Louis, expression as blank as possible.
“Come off it,” Louis snaps, looking at Harry. “It wouldn’t have been such a shit show if you weren’t such a miserable bastard.”
“Louis.” Liam warns again, this time placing a hand on Louis’s shoulder, and Louis sulks, still glaring at Harry.
Harry is about to say something when Zayn lifts a hand, and looks at Louis. “We’re all so different now, Louis. We wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“It wouldn’t be so hard if you just talked to us,” Louis says, with a pout. Zayn’s eyes soften. Louis sighs, looking at Harry now, not quite pleased. “Sorry for snapping, mate. Just - just, well, I don’t even feel like we’re friends anymore.”
“We don’t have to get the band together to be friends,” Harry says, as gently as he can past the pounding headache that’s threatening to take over. “It’s not an either-or situation.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want to do it, either.”
Four pairs of eyes turn to Niall, who gives them a sheepish look. “Was nobody going to ask me?”
“Niall…” Louis starts, eyes widening in surprise. “I didn’t know."
Liam sighs. “Maybe this isn’t the right time for this, We were just thinking that we should record a mini album for the fans, but not a tour or anything.”
“Our music styles are so different these days,” Zayn says to the room. “We wouldn’t be able to make music unless we all sacrifice a lot.”
“That’s what teamwork is about,” Louis argues, not quite ready to back down. “Sacrifices and shit.”
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Except I’m the one who always had to make sacrifices, about everything.”
Louis opens his mouth to argue, and Harry thinks it’s time he stepped in. “He’s right. We all had to make a lot of sacrifices to make the band work for as long as it did, but some of us had more creative input than others, and we all know it.”
“You’re not wrong,” Liam admits, turning to Zayn. “I really am sorry for that, Z.”
Zayn shrugs, without saying anything. Louis seems to consider it before he says, rather unhappily, “I guess that’s that, then.”
“I would like us to be friendly,” Harry says to the room, slowly considering his words. He doesn’t quite know how it’ll all work, but he hopes it does. Liam is looking at him, with a hint of smile. Louis, on the other hand, ducks his head away in defiance. Harry sighs. “I’d like to make an effort to know what’s happening in your lives.”
He looks at Louis when he says that, thinking back to Eleanor’s engagement ring. Louis tilts his head up, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression before nodding his head slowly. “Yeah, I think it might be best if we fixed ourselves without the band adding pressure.”
“I’m glad that’s sorted then,” Niall says, getting up from his chair and stretching. He picks up his empty food plate, and walks over to the door of the study. He looks over his shoulder, an amused smile playing at his face. “You lot are entirely too dramatic sometimes.”
The four of them look after Niall’s retreating figure. Harry still doesn’t know how the other man can detach himself from all the chaos without anyone actually being all that upset about it. Liam clears his throat. “Speaking of knowing what’s going on in each other’s lives…”
He gestures, a bit awkwardly, between Zayn and Harry, without saying anything. Louis rolls his eyes. “So?”
“So what?” Zayn asks, trying to keep himself from laughing. Harry schools his face carefully blank.
Louis snorts. “Good fucking lord - so, are you lads together or not?”
Harry and Zayn exchange a look. Zayn’s eyes twinkle, and he grins, mischievously. “I think we like to keep our secrets - oh, don’t give me that look.” Louis looks like he wants to throw something at them. Zayn laughs. “Yes, yes. We’re together.”
“Proper serious too,” Harry supplies, nodding sagely. Zayn barks out a laugh. “Wedding bells and all.”
“Sorry you boys weren’t invited,” Zayn says, with a smirk. “We wanted to keep it small, you know.”
Louis shakes his head, with amusement. “I’ll have you know that you might be joking now, but nobody will be surprised if this actually ends up happening.”
Harry can feel his face going red, and a look at Zayn tells him that he’s no better. Zayn clears his throat. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“I’m really happy for you both,” Liam says, as sincere as ever. He looks at Harry, and Harry can see the tips of his ears turning pink. “And Haz, I’m sorry.”
Harry quirks a brow, and Liam rushes to explain. “You know, saying I didn’t understand your fashion and stuff. I didn’t mean harm by it, but I’m sure it came off that way.”
A part of Harry wants to give Liam grief for it, but Liam seems so genuinely sincere that he can’t be bothered. “It’s cool, yeah. You didn’t get it.”
“It’s not an excuse,” Liam says, shaking his head. “I just want you boys to know I support you in everything and anything, and I’ll always support you.”
“Someone get Niall back in here,” Louis says, loudly. “Tell him there’s a group hug happening.”
Niall ducks his head back into the study. “Did you say a group hug?”
Seven years, three months, and a day after their last group hug, the five former members of One Direction hug again, albeit awkwardly, like they’ve forgotten how to do it. Harry feels Niall settle next to him, Zayn in his arms, Louis’s blue eyes twinkling at everyone, and Liam’s strong hands around them. He’s not sure if they’ll ever be what they were, and he’s not necessarily sure he wants them to be either, but at least they haven’t killed each other yet.
*
“That wasn’t so bad,” Harry says, trailing a finger over Zayn’s newest tattoo. They’re laying on Harry’s bed, sheets crumpled at their feet. “We were always due a fight, but it’s not the worst fight we’ve gotten into.”
Zayn smiles up at him, that impossibly sweet smile that Harry adores. He reaches for a stray curl. “I’m glad we went.”
“Did you mean what you said?” Harry questions. Zayn gives him a quizzical look. “That this is serious.”
Zayn leans up, kissing Harry slow and deep. “I feel like it’s about time.”
“Mm maybe,” Harry agrees, with a smile, pushing Zayn back down, kissing him firmly.
*
2022
“If you’re gonna gate crash my vacation, the least you can do is help with the animals.”
Harry groans when he feels a pillow hit him. Harry rolls to his side away from the offending hand swatting at him, closing his eyes, and settling back into his English countryside dream that’s just getting interesting. Except he can’t because the covers are being drawn back, and he feels the chill hit his entire body. Harry lets out a whiny noise, and he hears Zayn laugh.
Harry cracks one eye open. “Why are you awake?”
“Like I said, I have work to do.” Zayn says, simply, puttering around the kitchen. Harry groans, shifting up so he can sit on the couch where he somehow fell asleep without realizing. Zayn is dressed in a red plaid shirt, a pair of jeans, and his Wellies. Zayn gives him a look over. “And you should help me.”
“It’s my day off,” Harry whines, falling back down to his pillow. The last he remembers was watching some Marvel movie or another, and his heart warms at the thought of Zayn bringing down a pillow and blankets instead of waking him up. “Don’t you have people to help feed the animals, anyways?”
“Yes,” Zayn says, placing a coffee mug on the table before sitting down on Harry’s legs. Harry lets out a huff and shifting so that Zayn can sit down properly. Zayn eyes him. “But not when I’m here.”
Harry closes his eyes again, even if the smell of coffee is tempting him to wake up. “Only you would consider a farm in Western Pennsylvania a vacation.”
“And yet, here you are, visiting me,” Zayn teases. He reaches a finger out to pinch Harry’s side, and Harry lets out an undignified yelp. “Now come on, I don’t want to mess the horse feeding schedule up too much. The guy who does it normally is usually done by now.”
“Fuck you, Malik.”
“Later,” Zayn says, mostly deadpan but Harry can hear the amusement. Harry lets out a dramatic sigh before getting up.
Zayn’s farm has four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two barns, and approximately six horses - approximately because Harry could swear that the horses are constantly duplicating, even if Zayn insists that there’s only six. The farm is also about two hours outside Philadelphia, where Harry finished playing his gig from the night before, and has a second one scheduled tonight. It’s not the most convenient, but it’s the best they can do under the circumstances. With Alia on holiday with the Hadids, Zayn had decided that he wants to spend those two weeks at the farm, as the animals offer a distraction.
“You know, I’d quite like a farm,” Harry tells Zayn, as he scoops grain to mix in with the hay that one of the horses - Rachel, he thinks her name is, is going to town on. Zayn pokes his head out of the stall he’s cleaning to look at Harry. Harry muses, “Well maybe not a farm, but a countryside home - you know, one of those with a garden and land.”
Zayn nods, turning back to where he’s scooping horse shit. If anyone from the outside world ever got wind of the fact that two former members of One Direction spend their leisure time cleaning horse stalls, they’d never be able to live it down. From inside, Zayn says, “Yeah I know, one of those little houses with the limestones.”
Harry doesn’t know why he’s still surprised that Zayn remembers the things he’s said all those years ago, but it gets him every time. He grins, excitedly. “It would be so nice to get a little home in the Cotswolds.”
“Yeah, sure,” Zayn says, coming out of the stall with two horse mats. He shoots a wicked smile in Harry’s direction. “Once you get past being surrounded by little, white, heterosexual families.”
Harry pouts. “Fine, we’ll get a farm in the north.”
“Yeah?” Zayn asks, suddenly seriously, brown eyes boring into Harry’s.
Harry considers the idea. It’s not that he’s spent a lot of thinking about how nice it would be to own a country home in England, but he would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it at all. Harry nods, slowly. “I’m not saying right now, but you know, one day.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Zayn starts, slowly, moving towards a second stall. Harry realizes he still has four other horses to feed, so he stalks over to the next horse. He’s distracted though. Zayn clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking that it might be nice if Alia spent more time in England.”
Excitement bubbles in Harry. He grins at Zayn, waggling his eyebrows. “Zayn, are you saying you want to get a little country home, with me?”
“I don’t know where I said that I wanted to get one with you,” Zayn says, equal parts smiling and rolling his eyes. Harry bites the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling too hard. Zayn laughs. “My god, you’ve gone full dimples at the idea.”
“It’s definitely a dimpling kind of idea,” Harry says nodding sagely. “Owning a country home with the person you love is like, the British version of the American dream.”
“You love me?” Zayn asks, quietly, his eyes widening.
“Oh shit,” Harry says, realization dawning on him. He loves Zayn, of course he does. He’s loved Zayn since they were seventeen, and Zayn knows that. It’s just that Harry has never said it out loud, in this context, and saying it in a horse stall wasn’t exactly how he envisioned it happening. “Well, I certainly could have picked a better way to say that, but, well. Yeah?”
“Yeah?” Zayn asks, quirking a brow. Harry can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “A real charmer, aren’t you.”
Harry groans. “You’re supposed to say that you love me too, and put me out of my misery before I keep embarrassing myself.”
“I love you too,” Zayn says, simply, but like everything Zayn ever does, it comes off as unfairly genuine. Zayn bites his lip, and looks at Harry. His face contorts in silent debate, but his gaze is so penetrating that Harry feels his heart race, the moment suddenly feeling a lot more serious than he originally thought. Zayn says, “I think I’ve loved you since we were kids. I just - well, I knew it. It’s just things were so complicated back then, and I’ve never been the best with words.”
“Hey,” Harry says, softly, walking over to Zayn. Zayn leans up to look at Harry through his lashes. Harry presses the tips of their noses together, Zayn’s breath warm on his lips. Harry kisses him, slow and sweet. When they break apart, Harry traces a finger down Zayn’s cheek - the same cheekbones he’s spent a full year waxing poetry about. Zayn’s smiling, a dazed look in his eyes. “I love you. You were the only person I ever loved, and there were so many times back then that I wanted to shout it, and I just never could, and this is a second chance - and, oh god, are you crying?”
Zayn is crying, proper ugly tears too, and Harry is at a loss for words. He can count the number of times he’s seen Zayn cry on one hand. Zayn wipes the tears out of his eyes. “We could have done all this years ago. We’re the worst.”
“The worst,” Harry agrees, and Zayn lets out a laugh. Harry presses his forehead to Zayn’s. “We could have saved ourselves so much heartbreak if we weren’t terrible.”
The past can’t be changed, and Harry knows that, but he still finds it funny that, despite everything, they still made it here. Somehow, they’re here in a horse barn, planning a future home together, and it’s not even remotely surprising. A part of him wishes that they could have had this all along, but he thinks that maybe they’re just kinder people now, to themselves and to each other.
“I can’t believe our first proper I love you is in a horse stall,” Harry muses, with a smile.
Zayn laughs. “Somehow, that just about sums us up.”
*
The thing about Zayn, Harry realizes, is that he’s always up for a debate. The thing about the two of them, Harry also realizes, is that they’ve spent so many years bickering about everything that it’s almost ritual that they need to bicker about something or another. Mostly, it’s about Harry never cleaning the coffee machine, or it’s about Zayn forgetting to pick up his dirty clothes off the bathroom floor. It never lasts long, and it always ends with one of them straddling the other on whatever surface they can find, which is always the best way to end an argument. Harry never thinks about these fights a lot, so when they get into an actual one, he’s thrown for a loop.
“Would you stop glaring at me?” Harry sighs, tugging a curl out of his beanie. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
Zayn glares. “You know I hate surprises, especially if it involves one of our old bandmates - uh, no offense, Niall.” Zayn shoots Niall an apologetic look.
They’re at The Forum, several hours before Niall’s last North America show, and Niall had bought up the idea of Zayn performing with him on the last show. Zayn, unsurprisingly, took it about as well as Harry expects, which is to say not well at all.
Niall hands his guitar over to one of the sound engineers and shrugs a shoulder at Zayn. “None taken - well, some taken, but it is what it is.”
“Zayn,” Harry starts, but closes his mouth when Zayn just shoots him a look. Niall raises a hand between them to draw their attention.
“Just hear me out, please.” Niall says, gently smiling at Zayn, who softens just a fraction because it’s impossible not to with Niall. “It has nothing to do with One D - with the band, okay? I just want to do something different on my last show, and you have a single to promote, and it would be cool to have someone join me on stage.”
“You’re in Los Angeles. You’ve got other friends with singles to promote who wouldn’t mind doing this,” Zayn says, defiantly. He tilts his head towards Harry. “He could do it for you.”
Harry squawks. “I have a show tomorrow. Jeff will kill me if I strain my vocals.”
“You strain it enough as it is, what’s a bit more?” Zayn asks snidely. Harry has to admit defeat.
“Please, Zayn,” Niall begs, giving Zayn his best puppy dog face. “Just one song. You come on, do your thing, and I’ll support you vocally, and then you’re off. Nothing to do with our past.”
“Anna would be happy,” Harry supplies, and then promptly closes his mouth when Zayn glares at him again. “Right, shutting up now.”
“You do that,” Zayn says to Harry, coolly, before turning to Niall. Harry can see the gears in Zayn’s mind turning, as his face changes with his emotions. Zayn bites his lower lip, considerately. “Fine, one song.”
Niall fistpumps the air excitedly, which in turn makes Zayn laugh, not quite with excitement, but he doesn’t look anxious, and that’s victory enough. Harry throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulder, pulling him close. Zayn instinctively brings his arm to rest around Harry’s waist, settling under the crook of his arm comfortably. After a moment, Zayn looks at Harry, with a raised brow. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, yet.”
Harry laughs. “Yeah, love you.”
“Love you too,” Zayn hums, a ghost of a smile on his face.
*
Harry can feel his anxiety bubbling up in the pit of his stomach when Niall announces I’d like to introduce one of my mates. He’s got a single out right now, and it’s a banger. Let’s hear it for Mr. Zayn Malik. The crowd erupts into a frenzy, and Harry carefully steps back into the shadow of where he’s seated to make sure no eyes turn to him. When Zayn walks on to the stage, slowly with a raised hand, Harry can see his nerves. Zayn closes his eyes when he steps up to the mic, and instantly, it’s like things fall into place. It’s a ballad about sex, but it’s happy and hopeful in ways that Zayn’s music hasn’t always been. Niall harmonizes easily, and Harry finds some solace in knowing that no matter what, their instinctive understanding of each other’s voices will never go away. The high note, after the second chorus, soars and the entire crowd erupts. Zayn bows his head, and walks off the stage to a standing ovation, and a smile on his face, bright and happy.
*
Backstage at Niall’s show, Harry is so distracted by Zayn and Niall laughing in the corner with someone in Niall’s band that he doesn’t notice the figure sliding up next to him. A look from the corner of his eyes tells him it’s Louis which, isn’t quite the surprise it should be considering he’s pretty sure that the other three always go to each other’s shows, but it does take him back slightly.
“Didn’t know you were here,” Harry says quietly, turning to look at Louis.
Louis tilts his head to the side. “I needed to drop my son off to spend the summer with his mum.”
“Oh.” Harry responds, blankly. It’s funny, Harry thinks, how he knows that Louis has a son, but the reality of that doesn’t actually settle in until Freddie is actually in front of him, or Louis mentions him in passing. They’re a long way apart from being roommates in London.
Louis clears his throat. “El and I are getting married.”
“I know,” Harry says, probably a bit too quickly. Louis’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. Harry explains, “I saw her engagement ring at the holiday party.”
“Oh,” Louis nods, relaxing slightly, probably content that his privacy hasn’t been breached. A silence falls over them, and Harry starts to take out his phone when Louis coughs, slightly. Harry looks at him. Louis runs a hand through his hair, which is definitely hitting mullet territory before saying, “We would quite like it if you and Zayn could be at the wedding.”
Harry thanks the heavens that he’s always good at keeping his face schooled on the expression that he wants because he doesn’t want to let anything slip through. He’s silent for a moment, thinking over his words. He gives Louis a nod and a friendly smile. “We’ll do our best.”
It’s not a promise because Harry has learned over the years that he can’t make promises anymore, not with how their lives always are, but he hopes Louis understands his sincerity because he will try his best, and he’s sure Zayn would too.
Another lengthy pause falls over them, and Harry watches Louis scan the room before settling on Niall and Zayn, who are walking out of Niall’s changing room, snacks in hand. Harry actually does take out his phone, scanning instagram lazily when Louis clears his throat again. Harry eyes him carefully.
“We are cool, right?” Louis asks, uncertainly and a little distantly, like he’s not expecting the answer he wants, which is absolutely fair because Harry isn’t sure what answer Louis actually wants.
Harry bites his lip slightly, not quite finding the words. He tries to smile when he says, “I never had a problem with you, Louis. I was always cool with you. We just grew apart and, well…” Harry trails off, really thinking about what he wants to say that won’t be unnecessarily dramatic backstage at a concert when anyone can see them. “Well, it always just seemed like you blamed me for things that weren’t necessarily my fault.” He settles on honesty.
“I suppose that’s fair.” Louis looks at him, considerately. Harry doesn’t know why he expected Louis to come back with something along the lines of that’s not true, Haz, we never blamed you. Except, they both know that it would have been a lie. Louis tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite come off. “I’d like to think I’m a better person than I was back then.”
Harry shrugs, a bit noncommittal. “We were young and stupid.”
“At Liam’s party, you said that you wanted us to make an effort to be friendly,” Louis says, slowly. Louis doesn’t always consider his words, but when he does, everyone knows it’s serious. Harry makes an agreeable noise. Louis’s voice is light when he says, “I made up with Zayn, and I would really like us to be okay.”
“We’re okay,” Harry reasserts, quickly. They were never not okay. “At least from my end.”
Louis doesn’t get a chance to reply when Zayn walks over, arms folded across his chest. “Are we good, lads?”
Louis’s smile is much more radiant when he sees Zayn. “Yeah, just having a little chat. I was telling Haz about how El and I are getting married, and it would be good if you two came to the ceremony.”
“Oh,” Zayn says, eyes widening in surprise. “Wow, congratulations, Louis. We always knew it would happen. We’ll…” He pauses, catching Harry’s eyes. “We’ll be there, as long as nothing major comes up.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” Louis agrees, amicably enough. He claps his hands, and pats Harry on the back. “How about drinks then, lads?”
Harry exchanges a look with Zayn. Harry nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
*
“You knew I’d enjoy that,” Zayn says, once they’re back home. Harry is in the kitchen, pulling out tomatoes as the chicken is cooking on the stove, while Zayn is sitting at the island counter, laptop open and listening to a mix of his newest song. Harry raises a brow, questioningly. Zayn elaborates, “Performing with Niall. You knew it would work out.”
Harry grins. “Well, I was hoping it would. You were brilliant, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Zayn says, closing his laptop, and focusing his attention on Harry. He smiles, a little shy. “I think I liked being back on stage.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks, turning back to the stove to make sure the chicken isn’t overcooking, adding salt and pepper in the process. He keeps his voice light when he says, “I think the stage liked you back.”
Zayn is silent for a long moment while Harry focuses on the recipe opened on his phone. Most night, he has cooking duties because he likes it, and Zayn tends to go for the unhealthiest option he can come up with. They have the chance to take liberty with spice levels and what they can actually make while Alia is with Gigi, as these days, she’s eating with them, and most other nights, they have to toddler proof the food.
“I think I’m ready to go on tour,” Zayn announces, proudly. Harry smiles to himself, keeping his back to Zayn. He knew Zayn would always come around, and he just needed a little push. “Also, I’m thinking about writing music again.”
That gets Harry to turn around. “I don’t have to tell you that I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
“You just want me to go back to work,” Zayn teases, eyes crinkling with amusement. Harry laughs. When they’ve quieted down, Zayn bites his lip, smiling slightly. “Thank you, Haz.”
“Hm?”
“For helping me figure out what I really want,” Zayn explains, softly. Harry meets Zayn’s eyes, which are filled with so much happiness that it Harry’s heart feels about three sizes too big. “And for not judging me for not making music, and not really doing much of anything for a while.”
Harry reaches for Zayn’s hand, taking it gently. “I love you. Even if you never want to go on tour again, and even if you never want to make music again. All I care about is that you’re okay, and that you’re happy.”
“I think we’re due for a little happiness,” Zayn says, ducking his head, smiling. “We’ve been sad for a long time.”
Harry lets out a sudden, unexpected laugh. Zayn looks up at him. “I think the last year has been the happiest I’ve been in about a decade.”
Zayn face is glowing when he says, “I think this is the most at ease I’ve been my whole life.”
*
They book a holiday on a whim to St. Barts at the end June when Alia is with Gigi, Harry’s tour finally ends, and they finally have free time. As they’re getting off their private plane, it just hits Harry that this is his life now. He remembers those early days in One Direction where they constantly insisted that they’re just five normal lads and yet, here they are. They’re two, very decidedly not normal, lads getting off a private plane to get on to a chartered car which will take them to a private villa, with it’s own private beach on a posh island in the middle of the Caribbean.
They spend the first day lazing around the infinity pool that overlooks the ocean. Zayn still can’t swim, but he gets into the shallow end of the bool, and Harry wraps himself around Zayn, kissing his jaw, pleased with himself when Zayn makes an appreciative noise. They make out on terrible orange lounge chairs, as the sun sets in front of them. The second day, though, they explore the downtown area. It’s a mix of boutique shops filled with colorful tropical shirts, which Harry definitely invests in, and quirky knick knacks that Zayn loves. There’s a Chanel and a Cartier, and Harry eyes the jewelry with bright eyes until Zayn drags him away. They pass by the Louis Vuitton with Zayn’s face plastered on the window display.
“It never stops being weird,” Zayn says, eyeing himself on the display. “Do you ever get used to it?”
Harry looks across the road where his own Gucci campaign is and wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t even really look like himself. “No, it’s terrible.”
Zayn does go into Louis Vuitton though where he picks up a few things for his sisters. The sales associate insists on Zayn getting free things, but Zayn, ever sensible, tells her that she can’t get commission if he takes things for free. Harry smiles to himself.
The third day, Harry buys a windsurfing board first thing in the morning, and he’s out on the water by the time Zayn walks out of their villa on to the beach, with sleep rumpled hair and bright eyes, and effortlessly beautiful in a way that only Zayn can manage. Harry waves to him from the water before he eyes another wave coming towards him. He’s not the best at normal surfing, but he thinks he has the hang of this. The waves on their private beach are a lot smaller, and Harry doesn’t get nearly enough height, but that also means it doesn’t hurt as much when he wipes out which, unfortunately, is often.
When he gets back on shore, Zayn is sprawled out on the lounger, with sunglasses high on his nose, reading a comic book. Zayn pushes his sunglasses down his face, and Harry preens when Zayn eyes him up. Harry leans down to kiss Zayn, soft and sweet, until Zayn wriggles up to sit properly, giving Harry enough room to settle between Zayn’s legs, kissing him deeper.
“You’re wet,” Zayn whines, but he’s smiling. Harry shakes his head so that the water from his hair drips down on to Zayn’s bare shoulders, which just makes Zayn let out another whine. He grumbles, “Hate you.”
“Mhm, love you,” Harry says happily, kissing Zayn’s forehead.
They lay out in the sun until Harry starts to feel his eyes droop. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, his cheek is pressed to Zayn’s collar, and Zayn’s arms are around him loosely, with his head leaning back on the lounger. The comic book Zayn was reading long discarded. Zayn is snoring lightly, and Harry feels himself relax again. They’ll probably wake up with tight backs and sunburns, but Harry can’t be bothered to care. This is probably what heaven feels like.
*
It rains the fourth day that they’re in St. Barts, so they spend the day inside. Zayn cuts the fresh vegetables from the local market while Harry cooks the pasta. Zayn teases Harry over his new found veganism, but Harry gloats when their pasta is finally ready and Zayn takes several servings. They watch a French movie while the rain patters on the roof, with Harry focusing on the subtitles, while Zayn has a running commentary of everything that he doesn’t like. Eventually, they give up on the movie because it’s entirely too pretentious, even for Harry. Also, because Zayn gets bored and finds sucking Harry off entirely more enjoyable. Harry can’t complain.
Their last day is bright and sunny, and Zayn actually gets into the sea, at least until the water is up to his waist. The waves are gentle, and Harry feels himself staring up at the high sun, trying to hold on to this moment forever. They sit on the sand, at the edge of the water, staring down at the sunset later that evening, as the waves crash around their feet.
“It’s nice that we can do this now,” Harry says, with a lop sided smile. “Go on holidays and stuff.”
Zayn toes at the wet sand, smiling down at his hands. “I don’t know how much Alia would like it if we did this more often.”
“We could bring her along next time,” Harry muses. “Probably somewhere more kid friendly, though. I’ve never been to Disneyland in Paris.”
“Disneyland in Paris, it is,” Zayn agrees, with a laugh.
*
“I don’t see why I need to call a press conference just because I’m dating a man,” Harry argues. Jeff and Anna exchange a look, and then they look at Zayn, who is sprawled on the couch with his Nintendo Switch in hand, only mildly paying attention to the conversation that his manager, his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s manager are having in front of him. “I’ve never confirmed or denied anything when I dated all those girls, and I’m pretty sure the universe thinks I can never answer a question clearly anyways.”
Jeff sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s because this actually is serious. At this point you live together, are raising a child together, and went on holiday together. I hate breaking it to you Harry, but this is the most significant relationship you’ve ever had.”
It’s not new information, but it does catch him off guard. It’s been a little over a year since he’s reconnected with Zayn in that coffee shop, even if it feels like so much longer. It’s been almost as long that Zayn’s daughter entered his life. It’s been ten months since he kissed Zayn in the Maliks’ home. He’s never been the best at relationships, but he’s surprised at how easy it’s been with Zayn. Harry catches Zayn smiling down at his Switch, not looking up.
“Also he’s going on tour soon,” Anna points out, gently. Harry doesn’t know Anna well, except she’s a god send when it comes to organization, and she’s always just vaguely frustrated at Zayn for various things, but Harry knows she loves him. “I don’t want him bombarded with questions during it. It’s sort of my job to make things as easy as possible for the next few months, and this is, unfortunately, the elephant in the room.”
Harry makes a face. “The world basically knows anyways.”
“They’ll ask him, and he’s technically hasn’t come out,” Jeff says, a bit apologetically. “I don’t want to put him in that position.”
“It’s funny hearing all of you talk about me like I’m not here,” Zayn says from the couch, and all three of them turn to look at him. Zayn smiles, sheepishly. “I don’t mind doing an interview confirming the relationship.”
“Zayn…” Harry starts, just as Jeff says, “Zayn, it’s going to be a media circus, and if you’re not up for it, I can’t ask you to do this.”
“We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,” Anna confirms, giving Zayn a look.
“And yet, you’re totally fine with me calling a presser?” Harry asks, in mock offense, looking at Jeff with wide eyes.
Jeff splutters. “No, of course not. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, either.” A pause and then, “Oh my god, you’re joking.”
Harry laughs.
“Focus,” Jeff warns Harry before turning to Zayn. “Zayn, if you’re sure, Anna and I could send you a list of interviewers we think are good, and you can decide between them.”
Zayn sends up a two figured gesture, turning back to his game.
*
Harry finds it a little odd that he’s more anxious about their interview with GQ than Zayn is. His coming out process has been long and drawn out, a thing that Nick Grimshaw once called the Great Gay Experience of Harold Edward Styles, and a thing creepy older people have spent an unnatural amount of time fixating on. He’s not out out, really. He hasn’t done a sit down interview where he explains to the world that he’s bisexual and terrible at anything that resembles functional, but it’s an open secret. Zayn, though, has never even teased the world about it. His family knows, the boys know, and he figures most of Zayn’s friends know, but the world doesn’t, and that’s really the question of the day.
It’s basic, really. Harry knows how to interview with Zayn, and where to step in and talk, and where to let Zayn have his moment. Zayn, for his part, has always made a habit of listening to Harry talk, which is harder than one thinks when a lot of times, there are three other very loud men in the picture. Zarry trends worldwide because, of course, it does. Larry also trends worldwide - again, because of course it does, much to everyone’s amusement, including Louis's, for a change. Zayn insists that there be no photoshoots accompanying the article, and Harry texts Anna and Jeff to let them get restraining orders and injunctions on paparazzi. If they’re going to be out to the world, the least they can have is a bit of privacy.
*
Zayn paces around when he’s anxious, which normally doesn’t get to Harry all that much, and he’s usually content with Zayn doing what he wants to. The August night before Zayn is due to start his four month UK and Ireland tour, he’s pacing in a particularly nerve-racking way, though, and Harry gets a bit nervous. Gigi is over, and the idea of their meeting, is working through the logistics of what’s going to happen with Alia, and Zayn is particularly nervous.
“It’ll be fine,” Harry tells him from the kitchen, putting together a snack platter. “Gigi and I can keep the same schedule you guys are keeping.”
Gigi immediately reaches for a pretzel when Harry puts it on the coffee table. “It’s also for just four months.”
Harry settles down next to Gigi on the couch, watching Zayn pace around mumbling things about the Malibu house, and distance, and time zones. Harry sighs. “Zayn.”
Zayn freezes and gives him a sheepish look. “Sorry, it’s just the longest I’ve been away from her, and it’s stressing me out.”
Harry and Gigi exchange a look, and Gigi gives Zayn a soft look. “We have Facetime.”
Harry understands, though. All those months that he was in Europe were pure torture. He missed Zayn, for sure, but being away from Alia hurt in a kind of way that Harry still can’t put into words, and whatever he was feeling, it’s probably a thousand times worse for Zayn right now.
Zayn sighs, collapsing down on the couch between Harry and Gigi. “I just need to rip the bandaid off and hit the road.”
He says it like it’s a question, and Harry hums. “If you’re not feeling up for it, you could always come home and try again later.”
“Even if that’s unprofessional?” Zayn asks, squinting at Harry. “I know you’re all about the professionalism.”
Harry laughs. “Screw professionalism. We’re all about mental health these days.”
“Harry and I could also visit,” Gigi suggests, looking at Harry. Harry grins. “You always did say you want Alia to experience England more.”
Harry nods, sagely. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy random hotels in Sheffield.”
Zayn makes a face at Harry before turning to Gigi, considerately. With a wrinkle of the nose, he says, “You’re not allowed to bring your mum though.”
Gigi groans. “As if I want to go anywhere with my mother.”
“I think Yolanda Hadid is a wonderful woman,” Harry offers, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He lasts two seconds before Gigi and Zayn swat at him, and Harry lets out a laugh.
After a moment, Zayn looks at them with wide eyes. He’s quiet when he says, “It’ll be okay, yeah?”
“It’ll be great,” Harry confirms as Gigi pulls him into a side hug saying, “You’ll be great.”
*
That night, as they stumble into the bedroom, falling back on to their bed, Harry has a desperate ache knowing he needs to memorize this for months. As Harry settles in between Zayn’s legs, looking intently down into expressive eyes, Harry traces Zayn’s cheekbones, the tattoos under the collarbone, like Zayn is going to disappear if he stops touching him. Mumbled I love you, I love you so fucking much, I’m going to miss you, I have no idea what I’m going to do without you, and all the things that they couldn’t say for years spill out. It’s only four months, Harry knows this, and yet, it feels forever. There’s a reason that artists rarely can start a family while on the road.
*
Alia cries a bit the first few nights that Zayn isn’t there, but she gets used to Harry easily enough. Harry finds himself staying home most days, content with spending the day playing with her in the garden, and writing songs while she naps. Gigi is a god send, constantly keeping important dates in mind and reminding Harry of things that only parents really understands, and he’s grateful for her. When Niall is in Los Angeles on holiday, he stops by and they take Alia to the beach. There’s paparazzi, but the restraining order comes in handy, and they have a nice afternoon as Niall teaches her how to kick a football, but she doesn’t quite have the coordination yet.
Harry finds that his songs are a lot happier these days which makes sense. He likes to play them for Alia a lot, who even at a little over two years old, is as musically inclined as anyone. It’s nice, Harry thinks. His life is pretty nice right now, even if he desperately misses Zayn, who is busy and tired, even if he always makes an effort to have a chat before he falls asleep. Harry has to keep telling himself that it’s the way of his life, and unless they retire to a countryside home away from it all, it’ll always be their life. It’s just these days, he thinks that he wants to hang his guitar up more than anything else.
“Where’s daddy?” Alia asks one afternoon from the floor where she’s playing, while Harry is waiting for Zayn to call. Harry smiles, with a hint of pride that she already seems to have a concept of a schedule.
Harry reaches a hand out to pat her on the head. “He’s in Birmingham.”
“Bruh?” Alia asks, eyes brimming with curiosity.
Harry laughs. “Bir-ming-um.”
“Brum.” Alia states, proudly.
“Close enough,” Harry agrees, and she seems content to go back to her toys. Zayn calls a few minutes later, and Harry picks up the facetime, and tries to not smile like a fool. He eyes Zayn’s surroundings. “Where are you?”
“A club,” Zayn explains. Harry mentally calculates the timezones, and figures it’s about 1 AM over where Zayn is. He watches Zayn get into a car, for some privacy, even if the lighting is dodgy. “Heading back to my hotel now.”
“The Zayn Malik tour life right back on track,” Harry teases. “And here you were thinking you couldn’t get back into it.”
Zayn laughs. “Jealous?”
“No,” Harry tells him, not missing a beat. He eyes Alia playing. “You always did come home with me, even back then.”
Zayn hums, happy enough with that answer. “What have you been up to?”
“Teaching your daughter how to say Birmingham,” Harry explains, with a laugh. “She settled on Brum.”
Zayn makes a face. “Of all the things to teach her, that’s what you landed on.”
“You’re the one who’s at a night club in our wonderful second city,” Harry grins, and Zayn rolls his eyes. Harry lowers his voice just slightly when he says, “Miss you, by the way. Just a little.”
Zayn’s face softens. “Miss you, by the way. Just a lot.”
“Sap,” Harry snickers, but he’s pleased with himself.
They don’t actually talk about much of anything, and Harry is just content hearing Zayn talk about his show, and how excited he’s been. It’s not until Alia pokes at him, wanting to talk to Zayn, that Harry slides back into the conversation.
Zayn bites his lip when they’re getting ready to hang up. Harry quirks a brow. “What’s up?”
“Wanna come to Manchester in two weeks?” Zayn asks. Harry hums in agreement. Of course he’ll come to Manchester if Zayn wants. At this point, he’d jump off a cliff if Zayn wants, which thankfully, he doesn’t. Zayn has a look on his face when he says, “I want to show you something.”
“Should I be worried?” Harry asks, even if he know he probably doesn’t need to.
Zayn bites his lip again. “I think I might have found a house - if, you know, you still want to buy a country home. Like, maybe we should hold it off, but I thought, you know, it’s nice and you might like it.”
Excitement bubbles in Harry to a stupid, controllable degree, and he chokes out a laugh, sincere and ugly. “Zayn - Zayn, of course I want that. God, I’d come over there tomorrow if we could sign off on it.”
Zayn laughs, suddenly much more relaxed. “It’s a big step.”
“I’m ready for it,” Harry answers, honestly. “Alia is out here talking in an American accent, we can’t have that.”
Zayn laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Of course, that’s the only reason that we should buy this house.”
“Amongst others,” Harry says, smiling.
Hanging up on Zayn gets harder and harder as the days go on, and tonight is no different. Harry is happy knowing that there’s a house to look forward to, and even though everything will always just be a bit chaotic, maybe there’s a future where they can check out finally.
*
Harry never knows what his relationship with Gigi actually is. There was a time when he thought she hated him, and maybe she did. Back when he was seeing Kendall, Gigi wasn’t openly hostile, but it was clear she didn’t have time for him, but lately he thinks of her as a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance. They don’t see each other often, but whenever they do, it’s usually nice. They both love Zayn, which in a lot of ways, is enough grounds for a friendship. The night that he’s due to fly out to Manchester, he drives over to Gigi’s house to drop Alia off.
“Oh, Harry,” Gigi says, answering the door, slightly out of breath. Harry eyes her, curiously. Gigi rolls her eyes. “Yes, Kendall’s here. No, she doesn’t want to see you.”
Harry holds up a hand, smirking slightly. He hands Alia over, gently, as to not wake her up. Gigi takes her, equally delicately. They just stand there for ages, not actually knowing what to say. He supposes that this is why they’re not actual friends because, if they were, they would have stuff to say. Gigi leads him into her house, decorated beautifully with clean lines and cleaner furniture. Harry settles down on a sofa, and Gigi sits next to him, moving a little cookie platter in his direction.
Gigi clears her throat. “This will never not be weird.”
“Which part?” Harry asks, raising a brow in amusement. “The part where you’re sleeping with my ex girlfriend, or the part where I’m dating your ex boyfriend?”
Gigi throws her head back, laughing loudly. Harry instinctively recognizes Gigi’s laugh as the same as her daughter. “The part where you’re pretty much the second father of my daughter, who I had with your boyfriend.”
Harry makes a face, tilting his head toward Alia’s sleeping form. “She’s going to have an interesting life as she grows up.”
“We’ll try to keep her as grounded as possible,” Gigi muses, looking at Alia. A moment passes and Gigi shakes her head. “Or as normal as our lives could be.”
“Especially with your mother always poking her head around,” Harry agrees, with some amusement. “She stopped by my place yesterday just to tell me that the organic cereal I was using isn’t the right organic cereal, and how she’s worried that Alia would get fat.”
Gigi laughs again. “She needs something to do to keep her busy.”
“She could get a job,” Harry suggests.
“Try telling her that,” Gigi waves off the suggestion. They fall into another silence, and Harry thinks it’s probably best if he left, but then Gigi gives him a look. “Zayn said you’re heading back to England for a bit.”
“That I am,” Harry says, slowly. “We’re looking at a house.”
Gigi gapes, slightly. Harry considers the idea that maybe Zayn didn’t tell her that part, and this is probably a complicated situation that he has no part getting involved in. After all, Gigi is the mother, and she would naturally have ideas about where Alia should live, and whether Zayn should be so far away, and Harry is just a third part player in all this. Harry tries smiling slightly, and Gigi’s face settles into something else. She studies him briefly before smiling, impossibly elegant in the way that only she can manage. “So, it’s that serious then?”
Harry nods, a little awkwardly. “This is the part where I don’t know what to say, or whether I should be apologizing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gigi waves him off, still smiling. “I’m happy for you both, and Zayn has always wanted to return to England in some way.”
Harry nods, eyeing her carefully. “And you’re okay with that?”
Gigi considers it, the smile dropping off her face. She looks between Alia and Harry and sighs. “I don’t really know, to be honest. My parents divorced when I was five, but my dad was always close by, and I would spend lots of time with him.” A pause and then, “I suppose he wants her to grow up in a lifestyle he knows better than LA.”
Harry stays silent for a while, thinking about his own parents’ divorce. “My parents also divorced when I was five, and I never realized how tough it was for them to having to share me.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that we can fly back and forth between California and England easily,” Gigi offers, the smile back on her face. A mischievous glint makes it’s way into her eyes. “Who knows, maybe I’ll relocate to London as well.”
Harry laughs. “Well, that’s always an option.”
Gigi snorts. “No, I think I’m a bit too LA for that.”
“My friends always say that about me,” Harry says, thinking about all the times anyone has ever told him that he’s a Los Angeles stereotype. “Trust me, it’s a lot easier to transition to a London lifestyle than you think.”
“It’s always worth considering,” Gigi agrees. “A part of me really wants to quit my job.”
Harry lets out a low laugh at that. “I feel like I’m thinking about it daily these days.”
He has dinner with Gigi and Kendall that night, and it’s not the weirdest thing in the world. When he tells Zayn about it, though, he doesn’t stop laughing until he’s crying.
*
The house is a sprawling, six bedroom manor, on top of a hill in Alderley Edge. It sits on two acres of land, and is approached by a winding driveway. Their realtor tells them that a highly regarded architect designed the house, which Harry doesn’t doubt. The kitchen includes granite work surfaces, and there’s a family room attached to a sun room. There’s more than enough land to have an expansive garden, which is what Zayn wants. There’s a cinema room, and an indoor pool, and more than enough space to build in a space for them to record, if they want to. It’s also only twenty minutes from where Harry’s mother and sister live, and less than an hour from the Maliks. Their realtor also tells them that there’s plenty of posh schools in the area, which makes Zayn wrinkle his nose, but Harry considers them with some seriousness. Harry has bought a lot of houses in his short life, and all of them were somewhat impulsive, and save for his first Hampstead home and the one in Malibu, none of them felt quite right. This Cheshire home feels exactly what he needs.
They don’t even bother to sleep on it, and sign off on it immediately. Harry spends the next two weeks in England with Zayn. They contact interior designers, and they look at schools, even if they’re about three years too early for that. Harry spends a weekend with Niall in London when Zayn’s show finally reaches the capitol, and Zayn spends a few days with Louis, who is back home in Yorkshire as well. They visit their families to tell them the good news, and Trisha cries while Anne has that twinkle in her eye that Harry knows means she’s so happy that she can’t put it into words. Yaser, though, pulls them to the side one night, a proud smile on his face.
“You boys really took the scenic route to get here, didn’t you,” Yaser teases them, but Harry can tell that he’s very happy. “I was starting to think I was going to die without our Zayn properly settling down.”
Harry flushes with pride, but Zayn ducks his head in embarrassment. “Dad!”
“I always did tell you to talk out your emotions,” Yaser lectures, mostly in jest. Zayn’s face goes red and Harry cackles. Yaser laughs. “You should listen to me more, Zayn.”
“Yeah, you should listen to your dad more, Zayn,” Harry agrees, copying Yaser’s tone with a shit eating grin.
Zayn swats at him. “Shut up.”
“It’s good you boys are home,” Yaser says quietly, when they’ve all stopped laughing. “Your mum worried a lot, and I’m sure Harry’s mum is the same.”
Harry and Zayn exchange a look, and Zayn clears his throat. “I think we’re trying to do better these days.”
“I really am proud of you,” Yaser says, with pride. “Both of you.”
Harry and Zayn exchange another look, both bright red, and trying desperately not to laugh. Harry hasn’t felt this warm in ages.
*
2023
They bring in the new year in their new home, which increasingly is starting to feel like the perfect house. Harry finds it harder and harder to go back to his Malibu house whenever work calls. They go to Paris in February, taking Alia along with them. She adores Disneyland, and Harry spends most of the time taking photos of her. They climb up the steep hill in Montmartre, taking in the city views. They go shopping, and Harry catches Zayn eyeing rings, but he covers it up when he catches Harry looking. They get lost, several times over, in the Louvre which probably is for the best because Harry always found the best art pieces to be the one off the beaten path. When they get back to England, Harry can’t help but feel like 2023 might be the best year yet.
*
Louis’s wedding is in the spring of the year, in a country home in the Cotswolds, with a series of elegant French windows surrounded with white and pink climbing roses. The gardens include a lake, lots of shrubberies, and grottos. It doesn’t look out of place in Provence or one of those nice lakeside towns in rural Italy that Zayn and Harry holidayed in. Harry doesn’t think it’s necessarily Louis’s style because, from what he remembers, Louis would have wanted something significantly more lowkey, but Eleanor seems like she has romantic inclinations, and this is all her doing. It’s beautiful, really, and Harry isn’t just saying that because he has wedding fever.
Liam and Niall are part of the groomsmen, and Harry is pleased to know that he no longer has that turn in his stomach at being left out. He thinks he’s doing okay these days with his friends. He sees Niall often enough, and Louis often stops by their house, and they’re alright. Liam will always be Liam, friendly and forward, and Harry thinks he can handle it now.
“You boys are always so fashionably late,” Liam says, with a smile when Zayn and Harry finally arrive. Harry frowns, slightly. They’re not late, they just missed the pre-ceremony drinks, and in their defense, getting Alia dressed now that she seems to hate all her clothes is a lot tougher than either of them thought it would be. Liam catches his face and claps him on the back. “I’m just joking.”
Harry laughs, easily enough. “Fair play, our kid was being a bit of a nightmare.”
“Hush,” Zayn says, patting Alia on the head. “She’s understanding more things these days.”
Harry explains, “Zayn is upset that she’s saying swear words now, even if that’s totally his doing.”
“Ah,” Liam says, with a laugh, bending down to make a funny face at Alia. She’s not the best with the lads yet, but she seems increasingly more used to them. Not today though, as she hides behind Zayn’s legs. Liam stands, leading them inside the venue. “Y’know, Louis wanted a city venue, but Eleanor insisted on something in the country side. You know how marriage is, all compromise and stuff.”
Zayn grins at Liam, all toothy and predatory. “You know all about weddings then, d’you, Li?”
“Oh no, not for me,” Liam says, quietly and just a little sadly. Zayn and Harry exchange a look that doesn’t go unnoticed by Liam. He explains, “Things with Bear’s mum have been, well, it’s put me off a bit from relationships.”
Harry makes a sympathetic noise, while Zayn claps Liam on the back. “It’s alright, mate. Thing’ll work out eventually.”
Liam nods, not quite convinced. He shakes his head, recalibrating himself, and looking at Harry and Zayn with a smile. He tilts his head in Harry’s direction. “Love your suit, mate.”
Harry’s suit is in a bright shade of fuchsia. He sent it to Louis a week before just to confirm that he’s not going to draw too much attention as it’s not his day, and Louis had texted back mate, you being at my wedding is already going to draw all the attention, which Harry thinks is absolutely fair.
Harry smiles at Liam. “I’m hoping it’s not too much.”
“Nah,” Liam waves it off. “Everyone else is in black, it’ll be good to get some color in here.”
Harry laughs at that, genuine and happy.
*
It’s a beautiful ceremony, and there’s not a dry eye in the room. Eleanor is as beautiful as ever, in an Alexander McQueen wedding dress. Harry points out that it’s Alexander McQueen to Niall’s girlfriend, Lucy, because she seems to be the only other person there who would appreciate the dress for what it was. At the reception, Liam fumbles through his best man speech, mostly because he’s piss drunk, but also because he can’t go a few words without crying. Eventually, it falls on Niall to read the rest of the speech off the index cards. Zayn laughs, all crinkle eyed, when Louis drags everyone out for a round of line dancing. Harry can’t keep the smile off his face when he watches his former bandmates dance, still as terrible as they were thirteen years ago. Zayn plops down on Harry’s lap, as they watch Bear lead Alia by the hand to play with Freddie.
Zayn leans back against Harry. “I like this.”
“We could have this,” Harry suggests lightly, but he surprises himself at how serious he’s being. Zayn hums. Harry thinks about it a moment and says, “Well, maybe not this - the lake is a bit much, but something like this.”
Zayn chuckles. “Is this a proposal?”
“I could do it more romantically, if you want,” Harry suggests, grinning. Zayn laughs, softly. “But, yeah, consider it one.”
Zayn stays silent for a moment, and Harry can feel his heart racing. Zayn takes his hand and says, “I’d quite like to get married in a barn.”
“A barn,” Harry repeats, laughing. Somehow, that just seems to make the most sense. “That can be arranged.”
Zayn turns in Harry’s lap, kissing him softly and sweetly. “It’s a yes, by the way.”
*
2024
They do get married in a barn, and not just any barn. It’s Zayn’s ridiculous barn in Western Pennsylvania, with the infinite number of horses that Harry probably loves more than he would admit. It’s a small ceremony, and only people they want are there, which means obviously that the boys are there. So is Gigi, and there’s a long debate about whether she’s Zayn’s best man or his, and Harry thinks he has a genuine case to make. He eventually settles on Niall because, well, it’s Niall. Zayn is the picture of cool the entire time, but Harry is losing his shit about everything.
“You’re bricking it,” Niall tells him, also the picture of cool.
Harry squawks. “I’m getting married. To Zayn.”
“That’s certainly a thing that’s happening,” Niall says, with a hint of a smile, fixing the lapels of his jacket. “Personally think Zayn has absolutely lost his mind.”
“Hate you,” Harry mumbles, fixing his own tie. A moment of panic settles over him, and he stares at Niall, wide eyed. “I’m marrying Zayn.”
Niall’s face softens. “Do you remember when we were seventeen, and we went out in London, and you told me, slushed off your mind, that you were going to marry Zayn one day?”
“That’s not a thing that ever happened,” Harry shakes his head. He’s embarrassing, but not that embarrassing. “You’re making that up."
Niall laughs. “Oh no, trust me, I wanted to record you.”
“Jesus,” Harry says, softly. “I can’t believe my life actually ended up where it wanted to end up.”
“Meant to be,” Niall agrees, smiling widely.
*
They’re not supposed to see each other since it’s bad luck, but Harry figures that since neither of them are the bride, he figures he can get away with it. He walks into Zayn’s hotel room about an hour before the ceremony to find Zayn sitting on the bed with Alia, explaining something to her with all the intense focus that you need when talking to a child.
Harry plops down next to Zayn on the bed. Zayn spares him a glance before turning back to Alia, who smiles sweetly at Harry. “Harry is also my dad?”
Harry snorts. “Ah, the joys of explaining gay marriage to a child.”
“She’s clever,” Zayn says, fondly. Harry hums happily. Zayn eyes him. “Nervous?”
“Absolutely lost my shit to Niall this morning,” Harry says, closing his eyes and lying down on the bed. Zayn lies down next to him, with Alia on his other side. Harry smiles up at the ceiling. “What about you?”
Zayn hums. “Nearly had a breakdown when I couldn’t find my socks.”
“Told you I’d be involved in your wedding,” Harry snickers, remembering that suddenly. “A pretty big role.”
Zayn laughs. Silence falls over them, comfortable and easy, and Harry thinks he could fall asleep right there. Zayn bumps his shoulder to Harry’s, and Harry cracks his eyes open. Zayn says, “We better go downstairs.”
*
In the end, he has nothing to worry about. If Harry really thinks about it, weddings don’t usually go wrong when the people involved in them actually want to be there. Zayn is mostly determined to not cry, but Harry doesn’t even try. He’s crying when he makes his vows, he’s crying as Niall tells the story of Harry being seventeen and stupidly in love with Zayn, and he cries when he dances with Zayn, who definitely steps on his toes. Everyone makes good use of the bar, and by the end of the night, the four other boys that Harry has known the longest in his life, are the ones sprawled out with him on the grass, looking up at the stars.
“I can’t believe half of us are married,” Louis laughs, twisting the wedding band on his finger. “Who would have thought?”
Zayn snickers, eyeing his own band in the moonlight. “Half of us also have kids now.”
“Actually, you’d find four fifths of us now have kids,” Niall explains, eyeing Harry. “Our Haz, here, is a dad now.”
“Jesus Christ,” Liam says, with some awe. “Times really change.”
Harry smiles up at the stars, his arm around Zayn’s waist. “For the better though, I think.”
*
There’s the Nikah as well, of course, and the Shadi and the Walima, and probably five thousand things that Harry doesn’t quite know about properly. Waliyha and Doniya walks Harry through all the steps, and everything he needs to know, while Safaa gives him a binder with all the do’s and don’t. He pours over the binders for at least three months, memorizing the difference between all three ceremonies, and what he needs to do. Trisha sits him down one afternoon to explain that he’ll never understand everything, but he should always try his best, which Harry promises he will. In the end, it goes smoothly, as well, confirming Harry’s theory that weddings never actually go wrong, as long as the people involved actually want to get married.
“The aunties love you,” Zayn says, proudly, as he slides up to Harry trying his best to figure out what he can eat and what he can’t at the food buffet at the reception. “It’s the curls, I think.”
Harry laughs. “Or my charm.”
“You and your old women,” Zayn scoffs, but grins up at Harry through his lashes. He eyes the room before leaning up to kiss Harry. “I think we should get out of here.”
Harry waggles his brows. “Zayn Malik, are you suggesting that we ditch our own wedding reception?”
Zayn makes a face, tracing his finger down the front of Harry’s sherwani. “We’ve had three of these already, and I’d really like to take this off you.”
“You’re a minx,” Harry says, with a laugh, but he follows Zayn out the hall and away from their families.
Zayn laughs. “You’re one to talk."
*
There’s a debate on where they should go for their honeymoon. Harry insists on the Maldives, but Zayn insists that he doesn’t want to be that many timezones away. They settle on the South of France because it’s easy, and it’s not like they can’t just go to the Maldives whenever they want. They’re in Nice, laying out on sun beds looking out into the Mediterranean sea, when Liam’s email comes in. Harry sees it first because Zayn is asleep, and he’s tempted to ignore it because reunion emails aren’t anything new, but they’ve been on hold for a few years, but the idea of a fifteen year reunion has been floating around for a few months. When Zayn wakes up and looks down at his phone, intensely, Harry knows they have to talk about it.
“What are you thinking?” Harry asks, when Zayn puts his phone away.
Zayn considers it for a moment. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“A reunion concert,” Harry checks because he’s not actually sure they’re talking about the same thing. “A One Direction reunion concert.”
Zayn nods, smiling slightly. “A one off event where we sing songs about staying up all night with a girl might not be the worst idea anymore.”
“There’s no way that one is going to be on the setlist,” Harry wrinkles his nose, but smiling despite himself. “Liam will probably wank himself over us agreeing to this, by the way.”
Zayn groans. “Behave.” Harry laughs.
*
2025
They’re in London for the reunion rehearsals. There’s a lot of debate about which songs should go on the setlist, and there’s a mutual agreement that some songs are off limits because they’re now in their thirties and there’s some things they just can’t get away with anymore. The songs on the last One Direction album are a touchy subject, as well, which Harry should have expected, really.
“Don’t Forget Where You Belong,” Niall mumbles, over his glasses. It’s 8 AM and they’re all in a hotel board room. There’s a noise of agreement around the boardroom they’re sitting in. Liam scrawls DFWYB under WMYB and Little Things. Niall takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the room. “What are our thoughts on History?”
“I’m not on it,” Zayn says, carefully. There’s an awkward silence around the room. Zayn coughs. “I mean, I could harmonize.”
Louis scratches his chin. “I would rather we didn’t sing History.”
Harry eyes Louis, a mutual understanding passing between them. Zayn looks between them and Harry explains, “I think we were all a bit hurt when we were singing History, and it doesn’t seem fitting anymore.”
“A lot of the AM songs don’t really feel like they fit anymore,” Louis says, considerately. There’s agreeable noise around the room. A wicked look passes over Louis’s face. He looks at Harry when he says, “One of them that does fit perfectly is…”
Zayn cackles. “That one definitely needs to go on the setlist.”
“You’re not on it,” Harry squints at Zayn, who exchanges a mischievous look with Louis. Harry pouts. “I feel really ganged up on right now.”
“Aw, babe,” Zayn says, trying not to laugh. “You can’t sing about Taylor Swift and expect us not to pick on you.”
“I want a divorce,” Harry grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when Liam writes Perfect under the white board, except he spells it Prefect. Harry yawns and looks down at the pages with song titles. “Strong and Through The Dark seem fitting.”
“I wrote Strong about my wife,” Louis says, fondly. Harry smiles down at the papers in his hand, and from the corner he can see Niall and Zayn do the same thing.
Just like that, they start throwing song titles around. Everyone is fond of Kiss You and Live While We’re Young. Nobody is fond of Alive, and there’s a whole debate about Happily. In the end though, there’s a twenty song set list, and they got there with only a few arguments, which couldn’t always be said about the band the first time around.
*
There was a time when Harry, bitter and cynical, thought that One Direction was circumstantial. Like, it wasn’t something that was meant to be on a profound level. Yet, fifteen years after they first formed, Harry Styles got on stage with Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, and Niall Horan and it’s like the universe aligned again. There’s a lot of things you can fake in this world, but the chemistry you have with someone isn’t one of them. On the O2 stage, looking out at fifty thousand fans, Harry feels like he’s on top of the world again. When the five of them hug this time around, it feels right.
Zayn is smiling, looking out the window as they drive back to Cheshire. Harry blindly reaches a hand out, but manages to find Zayn’s. Harry says, “That wasn’t so bad.”
“It wasn’t,” Zayn agrees, with a happy sigh. “It reminded me of the days when doing that was the best part of my life, and not an exhausting job I couldn’t wait to quit.”
Harry smiles, fondly remembering those early days. “There were some good times in between all the drama.”
“We found each other,” Zayn says, simply. Like that makes everything worth it, which it totally does for Harry.
Harry hums. “We lost each other too.”
“And found each other again,” Zayn scoffs. Harry tilts his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Enjoy the moment, Harry.”
Harry laughs. “We have the rest of our lives to enjoy the moment.”
“Huh,” Zayn says, like it’s actually hitting him now. “We’re actually married."
After the beat, they both burst out laughing. Christ, they’re married, who would have thought?