Chapter Text
Much as Harry tries, he can’t find it in himself to worry about the first day of school. He’s spent years and years building his confident exterior, with the help of blushing girls and persuadable teachers, of course. He’s well aware of the power he has over any room he walks into, thanks to his “lush curls” and “suave walk” and, honestly, who can resist his “gorgeous green eyes”? Harry knows he’s smooth, but he most definitely does not abuse his power. He loves and respects girls, first and foremost, because he was raised to appreciate the softness of their curves and the eloquence of their speech (“Harry, if I ever hear about you disrespecting a girl I promise I won’t be through with you until you’re half girl yourself”). He doesn’t have a confidence problem because he knows he shouldn’t, he knows new girls will be fawning and old girls will be sighing, and who is he to reject female attention?
So, with that in mind, he explains to his mother over Chinese takeout, why he’s not looking for anything serious in his senior year. He’ll have fun with a few girls, if the opportunities come, but he should really focus on his grades and his extracurriculars (and getting the sixpack that he promised his thirteen year old self all those New Years resolutions ago).
“Extracurriculars? What extracurriculars?” Anne asks with a skeptical look on her face.
“Oh, you know, résumé builders, UNICEF, maybe environmental club or something of the sort.”
“Well love, don’t actually do any of that stuff unless you want to. You know that, right? Don’t make your last year of high school a drag. Don’t forget to live!”
He sighs. “I know, Mom, I know. That’s why I’ll be having a fun romantic life.”
“Fun?” The skeptical look is back.
“Yeah, like, I just don’t want to settle down. I want to live, remember?”
Before Harry can even take a proper breather, Anne is engulfing him in a hug that replays vivid childhood memories of comfort after scraped knees and bad dreams in his mind. “My little baker boy’s all grown up and a player! Who would’ve thought? Just promise me you’ll treat ‘em well, right?”
Harry’s face softens as he wraps his arms around the mother that he loves so much, that’s raised him to be the sweet boy that he is, who will never let him forget the summer he spent working at a bakery two years ago. He kisses her cheek once, then again for good measure. “I know, Mom,” he reassures. He does. He knows to appreciate girls and to appreciate his mom and to appreciate life because some people have it worse than them, and some people don’t have a mother or a father, and this world is so unfair for women, and every other phrase his mom has pounded into his head, so with a heart full of respect for caring, gentle Anne, he kisses her once more and tells her he’ll take care of the trash and dishes.
“Thanks, love. And don’t forget to get a proper rest for your first day of the last year of Hell!”
Once he’s finished, he goes to his room and flops down on the bed, nearly missing his phone buzzing. He opens a text from Josh, his pal from school. He unlocks his phone and reads the message:
Josh: 9:32pmM Styles. Throwing a party this Friday. Celebrate the new school year. You in?
Harry: 9:33pm Who’s coming?
Josh: 9:38pm It’s a free for all. As long as Ash is there, I don’t really care.
Harry: 9:40pm What, you haven’t fucked her yet?
Josh: 9:42pm No, but believe me, I plan to ;)
●
Harry walks into school on the first day of senior year with exact confidence he knew he would have, and the exact results he’d anticipated. He doesn’t have rippling muscles, or the potential to be president, but boy does he have charm. People love Harry Styles. People would follow Harry to war, that’s how charming he is. Girls blush and giggle, guys greet him with fist bumps and “bro!”s, and all is as expected in Harry Style’s world.
Harry knows he’s smart, cunning, sweet, can get away with anything. He also knows he’s nice. He is a sweet boy, so many people tell him. While he’s been in countless beds and under countless skirts, he’s also had his fair share of comforting heartbroken girls, consoling friends, bringing flowers and coffee and sandwiches just out of the goodness of his heart. Harry is a good person, he knows he is. He has good intentions and (mostly) good friends, and he’s not worried at all for his last year of high school. In fact, he does the opposite of worry; he sits back in his proverbial lounge chair and lets it flow by.
“So anyway, about the party on friday…” Josh whispers in AP economics an hour later. “I heard Ash is the type to want to get to know a guy before she sleeps with him, so like. What’s up with that?”
“I know. Girls having standards for themselves is the worst.”
“Right?” Harry narrows his eyes and looks for any sign of joking in his friend’s expression, but-
“Mr. Styles? Chatting on the first day of class?” It was going too well.
“Oh, no, Ms. Mitchell I was just-”
“You were just.”
“...Right.” The class chirps out a laugh.
“So I’m sure you were talking about the curriculum and can tell me all about marginalism, then.” A proud expression takes over her face, as though she’s already won, but,
“Absolutely. It’s the process of analyzing the additional or incremental cost or benefits aris-”
“Alright, alright, Styles. You clearly know what you’re talking about. Just don’t chat during my class again.”
“Of course, ma’am. Sorry again,” he says and flashes her his most innocent smile, evoking a small one from her.
“Nice one, bro,” Josh mutters.
“Shut up and take some notes for once, you fucker.”
●
As per normal, Josh continues to talk about sex and the party all throughout lunch, until Louis interrupts him with a loud “OKAY”.
“Right, so I don’t think open invitation is a good idea, for obvious reasons. We don’t want to whole school to show up,” he continues.
“Yeah, too many annoying fuckers that we’ve never seen before will come,” Niall adds.
“So we should invite people who we know, people who are known to be fun at parties, and hot chicks?” Josh asks.
“Sure,” Louis continues with a nod and an eyeroll, “so who specifically? All of us, obviously. But other people, fun people, good partiers, good kissers, who are we thinking? What about that kid Liam? You used to hang with him, yeah, Niall?”
““Yeah, he’s a good time. Always busy showin’ the new kids around, but I bet he’s the same.”
Harry recalls Liam. He remembers him being nice. Smiley, thoughtful. He did always have a knack for taking in the underdogs or the new kids, though.
“But seriously, guys. I’ve wanted to sleep with Ash for like two weeks now and she won’t even-” Josh starts again but Louis silences him with a balled up napkin to the face.
“She’s too good for you and you know it, you doof.”
“Well duh, but that won’t stop me from trying…”
“Was that the bell or does my brain start ringing every time you say something stupid?”
“Stupid? Have you seen her boo-”
“Later, Josh.”
It’s funny that Harry is able to maintain such confidence, because he is most definitely going to be late to French. Absolutely. No doubt about it. The hallways are clearing up as he speeds through them and past classroom after classroom, and he’s actually not even sure where he’s supposed to be, which is part of the problem, because he showed up to where French class was last year only to be told in Spanish where he’s supposed to be this year, so.
It seems he’s the last one left in the hallways, until he hits another body, some kid with a black denim jacket--all he notices is a skinny body, probably a lower classman--and his books go flying. He hears some apologies but fuck, that was so embarrassing, so he mumbles out a “no problem!”, picks up his books--a flash of tan hands--balances himself again, and dashes off too quickly to even see his perpetrator’s face.
Luckily, he’s Harry Styles, so being late to class isn’t the end of the world.
●
It’s been a week. The party came and went. His mother’s voice echoes in his head as he sits with his friends, reminding him to have fun and to remember to live and to enjoy every moment, but it seems that the school is living in the moment more than he is because it’s talking about his latest hookup, at the party, and he can’t even remember who it was with.
“Was it Margaret?” Louis asks in a hushed tone over the picnic table.
“Nah,” Harry replies, nonchalant as ever, “she definitely wasn’t blonde.”
“Phoebe?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Young man,” Louis scolds in his best maternal voice. “How are you not ashamed of yourself? Don’t even remember who you get with.”
“Don’t be too surprised, Lou,” a full-mouthed Niall tries to say. “You should be used to it by now. Who doesn’t want Haz?”
Harry starts to grin, but Niall continues.
“Just so proud of my little son, so popular with the ladies…” Groan.
Harry can’t say he doesn’t love his friends, though. They’re there when he needs them, and he’s there when they need him. He’s been best friends with Niall and Louis since junior high soccer, when he realized the world wasn’t ready for his athleticism yet, and with Josh since freshman year of high school, when he really and truly began to appreciate girls. Not that he appreciates them in the same way that Josh does, but it is nice to have him around. Now, he insists on walking past the gymnasium. Harry won’t ask, but there’s no doubt that Josh wants to watch the volleyball tryouts, which, ”Josh, really?”, but he doesn’t have the energy to decline and deal with a fussy Josh.
They sit down on the highest row of seats on the bleachers, and while Harry at least pulls out his English homework to occupy himself, Josh doesn’t bother trying to be discreet. Harry nudges him, murmurs, “don’t be too conspicuous, ya tit,” but to no avail.
“Man, girls are great,” Josh says in awe.
“Aren’t they.” Harry doesn’t look up.
“You’re not even watching, how would you know?”
“I actually expand my horizons past ogling girls in tight sports uniforms. You should try it sometime.”
“Hey,” he whines, “I’m trying with Ash! But it’s hard to focus with all these other beauties…” he trails off.
Harry sighs and finally looks up, and spots a girl he hasn’t seen before. Wait.
“Hey, who’s that?” he asks, suddenly interested. She has a cute figure, especially in the uniform. She turns around so he can see her face as she smiles at her friends, and it feels so long since he’s seen a smile like that. He nudges Josh to hurry up and tell him.
“You haven’t seen her?” Josh asks incredulously. “That’s Waliyha. Hot new sophomore. The only lowerclassman who’s bound to make it onto varsity.”
“Oh,” Harry replies softly and watches her do a jump serve.
Sophomore? He’s never been into age gaps. Not that it’s a huge age gap. In fact it’s perfect, he could show her around and talk to her about years to come and funny teachers and she’d laugh and hold his hand and…
“She’s pretty.”
●
She’s even prettier up close, Harry thinks, as he approaches her at her locker the next day. She has long, dark hair that curls around her face and chocolatey eyes and a warm laugh that she gives her friends. He looks in her lockers and sees volleyball and UNICEF and Puppy Rescue stickers and he knows she’s too good for him, participating in all the things that he resolved to but never took the time to get himself involved in. He looks at her again, his stomach flips a couple times. He waits for her friends to leave and then he goes. He’s not worried. He doesn’t think he’s worried, at least. He’s done this before. He’s done this so many times.
“Hey,” he says when he approaches her. She only half turns around. He moves to face her and smiles.
“Hi,” she replies, unfazed. (What?)
“So you’re new here, yeah? Waliyha, right?”
She nods.
“Right. Well I’m Harry. I could show you around sometime, if you’d like.” He moves closer, leans against the locker next to hers, puts on his best smirk.
“Maybe. I think I’ve basically figured out the campus, though.” Oh. Right. That’s okay. He’s Harry Styles.
“All of it?”
She nods again.
“Even the little cafe down the road?”
She looks up, finally, blushes a little. Harry almost squeals out loud but (thankfully) catches himself in time. She shakes her head, slightly.
“Perfect! I could definitely show you around there. I basically live there.”
She chuckles a bit before regaining her composure.
“Yeah, maybe sometime I’ll let you.” He widens his eyes and she winks as she closes her locker and turns towards the exit. “See you, Harry.”
Definitely not what he was expecting. Even better.
●
In face of her not falling in love with him within the first twenty seconds, like most girls do, he’s come up with a mental checklist. A game plan, if you will. He’ll find out her common interests and happen to be near them at all times, conveniently. He’ll get to know her. And then he’ll ask her out. He has been getting to know her. He took her out to coffee last week, finally, and learned she plays volleyball outside of school, too, and her favorite color (mint green, which Harry swears on his life is blue) and where she lived before she moved to California (New York).
His mom thinks it’s absolutely “adorable”, how “dedicated” he is. He brings her coffee before school sometimes and stops by her locker and carries her bag for her, which he tells to Anne because he’s not crazy, right? He’s doing all the steps. Why hasn’t she fallen in love with him yet? Anne says “some girls just won’t like you, love,” which, okay, but, not an option, because he’s spent too much time around her gentle curls and her soft smile and her sharp cheekbones for her to be in the group of “some girls” who just won’t like him. He knows it’s working. He sees her blush and giggle, occasionally, he’s just surprised by how long it’s taking.
She is clever, though, he’ll admit. In control. He likes that about her. He finds that in their (somewhat, almost) relationship, she lets things happen, rather than him. She lets him hold her hand. She lets him kiss her cheek, and bring her coffee, and stand in her presence, and give her rides home sometimes. It’s working.
It’s working. It has to be.
●
Harry leans against the gym wall after volleyball practice, waiting for Waliyha. She walks out with the suave radiance he was sure only he had before he met her and he grabs her hand, pulls her to him.
“Oh!”
“Hey,” he murmurs. She smiles up at him.
“Hey, babe.”
“Need a ride home?”
“Aw, really?” He nods, of course. He’d do anything for this sweet, clever girl he’s known for not even two weeks. “That would be nice…” He smirks. Of course it would.
“But my brother’s going to… Or he thinks he is. And I don’t want to just leave. He doesn’t know you, and he’s quite…” She bites her lip. “I just don’t want him to worry. Thanks for the offer though.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, and he forgets about the whole situation.
“What’d I do to deserve that?” Harry asks, playfully.
She huffs out a tiny laugh and kisses his cheek again. “That’s for the coffee this morning.” She moves her lips closer to his mouth and presses a small kiss there. “That’s for offering to take me home.” She moves directly in front of him and gives him a mischievous look. “And this..” She stops talking and jerks her head around to look at the door.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I thought I heard something.”
“Right. So, you were saying?”
She looks around and chuckles again. “Haz, my brother’ll be here any minute.”
“This won’t take long,” he decides, courageously, and steps forward to kiss her. He almost sighs against her lips, he’s wanted it for so long. Her small hands come up to cup his face as he holds her waist. She’s so...so petite and delicate and lovely, but strong and sharp and brave, too, all at once. He knows she has him wrapped around her little finger, and he’s fine with it, completely.
He breaks away to press little kisses on the side of her neck.
“You know, we’ve got time. There are other things we can do,” he says into her skin.
“Like what?” A voice behind him says. Harry jerks away, distances himself as much as he can, and turns around to face the voice. It’s the same boy in the dark denim jacket that he crashed into weeks before, but he’s no longer a blur. He has Waliyha’s same dark hair, styled up into a quiff, and the sharpest features Harry’s ever seen, like a less gentle version of his sister, all angles and judging hazel eyes and pursed lips. There's an eerie smile on his face, as though he wants Harry to continue speaking. Waliyha looks horrified.
“Go on, tell me. Tell me all the things you want to do to my little sister.” Harry’s jaw just about disattaches from his face, it drops so suddenly.
“I’m. I,” he tries, helplessly.
“Zayn, come on. Let’s go,” Waliyha says. Zayn doesn’t respond.
Harry tries again. “I, uh. Sorry. That didn’t. We. I’m Harry,” he holds out his hand to shake.
Zayn doesn’t take it, just says “Cool,” then turns to Waliyha. “Let’s go.”
Waliyha flashes him an apologetic smile as they leave.
So that’s her brother.
●
As a brother himself, Harry tries to be understanding. He realizes that Zayn is just looking out for his sister, that he loves and wants to protect her. He thinks about how Zayn looked at him when he gets home, and as he does homework and talks to his mom, and as he walks into school the next day, and he does understand that he now has to somewhat prove himself, show Zayn that he cares about his sister, he just wishes he didn’t have to.
This time, when he approaches Waliyha, she doesn’t greet him with a kiss but looks at him urgently and almost apologetically.
“Hey. What?”
“Don’t be mad, but,”
“What?”
“Okay this is so embarrassing but my stupid brother told my parents about you and they wanna have you over for dinner now sorry I didn’t mean for this to happen!” She rushes out in one breath.
Harry is anything but upset. “Oh! No, it’s fine, it’s great!” He paces around a bit. “What do I wear? Fancy or casual or medium fancy or, like, casual and a half, or,”
Waliyha laughs. “Don’t worry, I told them we’re not serious or anything. You don’t have to impress them.”
A balloon pops in Harry’s head. He smiles tightly and nods. “Exactly, right.”
●
With a complete disregard for Waliyha’s advice, Harry goes to Louis for help. Louis, surprising no one, is no help.
“How am I meant to know what you should wear to impress her parents? Does it look like I’ve met her parents?”
“Lou, c’mon. What did you wear to impress Eleanor’s parents?”
“I’ll let you know when we have a formal dinner.”
“Okay. Have you ever had a formal dinner with just El?”
“Absolutely not. We’ve been bowling, if that helps.”
“Lou! What am I supposed to do?”
“Why don’t you ask Zayn? He knows his sister and his parents best, and you’ll still surprise her.”
“Ask Zayn? I’m not sure it’ll matter what my corpse is wearing but thanks.”
“Oh c’mon, he’s just being protective. I would be the same if Lottie had a boyfriend.”
“Lou, she does have a boyfriend.”
“What?! Who is it?! Is it that Dalton fucker in her class? Fuck I’m so-what the fuck? Why the hell wouldn’t she tell me?”
“I wonder.”
●
With no help from his friends, Harry goes to his trusting mother, instead. The dinner is in two hours and he's a nervous, stuttering mess.
Anne ruffles Harry's hair affectionately and looks at him with unbelieving eyes.
"My boy," she begins, "my popular ladies man! Smitten by a sophomore!"
"Mom," Harry whines, "can you please.."
"How old is she? Fifteen? Sixteen? You haven't had a crush in years, and now you fall in love with a fifteen year old?"
"Mom."
"What does she look like? Blonde? Brunette?"
"Mom! "
"Alright, alright. Put on your black t-shirt and that black blazer I got you for your birthday. And black jeans. All black always looks good."
"Thanks mom, you're the best!" Harry exclaims and hugs her before dashing to his room.
"Oh, and," he pops his head back out, "brunette."
Somewhere in between squeezing on his jeans and styling his hair, Harry managed to convince himself that Zayn doesn't hate him. Now, as Zayn opens the door to the Malik Manor for him with a look of displeasure, he realizes that was a mistake.
Zayn’s wearing a worn, grey t-shirt and sweatpants rolled up at the ankles. Harry, feeling overdressed and awkward, tries for a small smile and wave.
“Hey!”
Zayn doesn’t respond.
“Zayn, right?” He offers a hand. Zayn doesn’t take it. He just rolls his eyes and steps aside so Harry can come in.
Once inside the lovely, two story house, Harry can see that Waliyha’s parents are taking this event just as seriously as he is, if not more so. Waliyha’s mom spots Zayn with Harry and widens her eyes, pulls Zayn away, and whispers something to him fiercely. “Five minutes!” She hisses and pushes him towards the stairs.
“Hi dear!” Her mother chirps when she reverts her attention back to Harry. He offers his hand but she hugs him instead. “I’m Trisha. It’s so nice to finally see you. Waliyha says you’ve been together for weeks now, but we only heard about you yesterday when Zayn mentioned you. Either way, we’re so happy to have you over. I hope you like curry.”
Harry immediately untenses. He already loves Trisha, the warmth and acceptance she radiates in all directions. She reminds him of his own mother, and at that he offers a genuine smile.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I can see where Waliyha get’s her beauty from.”
Trisha laughs and leads Harry into the dining room. “I’m glad Wal’s found herself a gentleman.”
Waliyha’s dad makes eye contact with Harry then, and gives him a curt smile.
“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Yaser,” he says and shakes Harry’s hand.
Finally, Waliyha herself bolts down the stairs in a floral skirt and flowy white shirt.
“Sorry I’m late! Sorry, my straightener, I don’t even-” She stops and stares at Harry. “Love your blazer, Harry.” She winks.
Harry is sure he’s in love with her. He feels so alive in this moment, so calm and collected, but also absolutely buzzing with energy. He charmed the ‘hot new sophomore’, he charmed her parents, and he’s here, having dinner with them. He’s Harry Styles, and he’s with his gorgeous kind-of-girlfriend, and her wonderful parents, and her brother, who’s not in the room but also isn’t giving Harry an icy stare, so it’s not a complete loss.
The table is already set and fumes from the curry and the bread waft all throughout the area. Harry smiles at the effort put in, really. The napkins are folded into triangles and are each spaced the same distance apart from the gold rimmed plates. The cutlery is straight and pristine looking, all on a champagne colored tablecloth. Trisha insists they get started already or the food will get cold, so Harry prides himself one last time for his current situation and sits down.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m here,” a quiet voice murmurs behind him, and Harry turns to see Zayn. Except, he’s cleaned up. He’s wearing a dark, patterned shirt and navy jeans. His hair is down from his usual quiff but still away from his face, to the side, and it reaches his neck in small curls. He’s even wearing dress shoes.
Harry can’t breathe for a second because Zayn looks so immensely different from how he’s seen him before. He's clean and neat and looks good, honestly, like he could be straight from a billboard. They hold eye contact, or Harry thinks they do, until Zayn rolls his eyes and sits next to Waliyha on a loud exhale. Waliyha clears her throat. Yaser speaks.
"So, Harry, you're a senior, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Harry answers politely.
"So what colleges are you looking at?"
"Oh, well I thought about UCLA for a while, but then I decided I might as well broaden my horizons, so I'm thinking about Berkeley, or UPenn."
"Hey, Zayn is looking at UPenn, too. He might as well get a scholarship, with the grades he's making," Trisha says.
Harry looks at Zayn, but Zayn is looking at his mom with a fond expression.
"You wish, mom. I've never even heard of UPenn offering full scholarships."
"You'll see. With your talent, anything's possible."
"So Harry, what are you good at?" Yaser presses on.
Harry absolutely lights up. He loves talking about this. "Well I've always been good at math and science, but I'm not entirely interested in them as careers. I do enjoy economics, though, and I think I'm good at it so far. Um, I'm not sure what I'll major in yet, though..."
Zayn scoffs, then, "Don't worry about it, love," Trisha says. "We don't need to talk about that. Yaser, stop pressuring the boy!"
Waliyha giggles. Zayn's eyebrows are raised at his dad.
"So," Trisha, coming to be Harry's second favorite mom ever, "tell us some embarrassing childhood stories."
Dinner goes by pretty quickly after that.
●
By the end of the night and his third plate of cherry pie, Harry is in love with Waliyha’s entire family. They’ve spent the entire night telling childhood stories and jokes, and discussing funny current events. When they've decide d they’ve had enough dessert, Yaser pats his belly and looks at the now untidy table, the dirty plates and the used napkins.
“Zayn, love,” Trisha starts, “you’ll take care of it, right?” She offers him her best, most maternal smile.
“I’ll help, Mrs. Malik,” Harry offers.
“Perfect! Both of ya will do it together. Get the job done twice as fast. And please, call me Trisha. Mrs. Malik is too old! After all, I am just twenty-eight,” she winks.
Harry ignores his stomach churning as Zayn scowls and walks into the kitchen. They clean up silently. Actually, Harry tries to initiate conversation, asking Zayn about UPenn and his favorite subjects, and if he plays any instruments, but Zayn shuts it down relentlessly with eye rolls and huffs of breath. Finally, after numerous failed attempts, just when he’s about to give up,
“Hey Zayn.”
Sigh. “What, Harry.”
“You know, I love pie. Your mom makes good pie.”
“I know.”
“Speaking of pi, what’s an opinion without three point one four?” Harry smiles, turning his face away from Zayn to hide it.
“Excuse me?”
He laughs, finally, “Just an onion!”
Zayn stares at Harry. He doesn't know if it's the nerves from the dinner, or being around Zayn-who he knows hates him, or if it's actually the joke, but suddenly Harry is laughing so hard his knees almost give out. After a couple of seconds, the corner of Zayn’s lip turns up into a crooked smile, but he immediately looks away and scoffs.
“Hey, c’mon, I saw that!”
“Saw what?”
“You smiled! My joke was funny!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Admit it!”
“Your joke was shit, I was smiling at your laugh.”
Oh.
Zayn clears his throat and looks away, mumbles something like “Uh, I mean..”, but Harry’s too quick to let an opportunity for friendship pass, so he nudges him, wiggles his eyebrows, and says,
“Don’t worry. I tend to have that effect on people. My smile could stop a thunderstorm, don’t you think?”
Zayn rolls his eyes for the zillionth time that night and chuckles, looking lighter, almost relieved. “Yeah, you wish. Hand me the soap.”
●
Afterwards, Waliyha offers to walk Harry out, but Zayn grabs Harry by the shirt before he can take hold of Waliyha’s hand, pulling him back into the kitchen.
“Hey, listen. I know you like my sister, but watch it. Seriously. She’s too good for you and you know it. At least take it slow or whatever. If you push her into anything she doesn’t want to do-”
“Zayn, I would never-!”
“Shut up. If you pressure her into doing anything she’s uncomfortable with, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“...Perfect.”
●
Harry, naturally, tells his mom all about the dinner, about how the Maliks seemed to love him, how Waliyha was smiling at him the whole time, how he even made Zayn smile. Anne goes off about how her boy is maturing, how he’s happily in love and making friends and being a good person all at once, and how she’s so proud of her baker boy, and all is well in Harry’s life.
Until Zayn hates him again.
It's not much, and he doesn't even know what he was expecting, but when he waves to Zayn and Zayn doesn't wave back, Harry feels a sense of loss, disappointment, sorrow--not to mention embarrassment. Zayn doesn't even give him the satisfaction of a frown, or an eye roll, but acts as though he's never seen him before. And it's not that Harry has a problem with Zayn not liking him, or acknowledging him, he just. Wishes that Zayn did like and acknowledge him.
But he can ignore it, really, he can. It's fine. His somewhat relationship with Waliyha is going spectacularly--they kiss and hold hands and Harry goes over to dinner at her house and he drives her home sometimes. It's terrific, in fact, it's easy to ignore Zayn and his bad attitude by focusing on Waliyha and her long hair and mystical eyes that Zayn also has and, fuck. Why doesn't Zayn like him? He laughed at his joke!
An eternity seems to pass by until Zayn speaks to him again. It's after school, while Harry's waiting in the gym for Waliyha to finish practice so he can drive her home. Zayn seems so have other plans when he meets Harry there.
Actually, he doesn't so much meet Harry there, rather, Harry walks in on Zayn and Liam pressed up against the wall so close to each other they may as well be trying to morph into one body.
"Oh!" He hears himself gasp before he can attempt to slip away.
Zayn doesn't seem embarrassed. He sighs, mutters, "excuse me," as Liam leaves through the other door, then "what do you want, Harry?"
Harry stands. Blinks. "Um. Sorry. I was just coming to get Waliyha. I'm taking her home today."
Zayn smiles a little. "You're not, because I'm actually taking her home, so. See you. Or not. Bye."
Harry bites the inside of his cheek. "She asked me to," he tries again, his voice cracking a little.
"I'm her brother. I can take her home."
Harry sighs. "If this is about you and Liam, it's fine. I won't say anything."
Zayn's attitude quickly takes a turn. "You think I give a fuck what you think of me? You're ridiculous, and you know what, stay away from my sister! She's gonna dump your ass anyway, if you can even call you fawning over her a relationship. Seriously, leave. She'd sooner spend time with a volleyball than with you."
Harry stands unmoving for a couple of seconds to process. He can feel his cheeks start to burn as he almost resigns and submits, but a force of cold energy sweeps through his body, then, (what the hell?,how dare he?) and he figures he's had enough too. "What the hell did I do to you? I have been nothing but good to your sister, to your family, to you! I don't know why you don't like me or what I did but could you at least fucking tell me so I stop wasting my time trying to be nice to a complete ass?" He's so overwhelmed, he realizes then, he's panting. He just wants to understand.
Zayn doesn't say anything, just stares. That's fine, Harry thinks. He wasn't expecting anything more. He turns to leave. He doesn't want to be here, anywhere near Zayn or his bitter attitude.
"Wait." Zayn says.
Harry sighs. He doesn't want any more harsh comments or cruel insults. He doesn't even care about driving Waliyha home anymore, just wants to leave. He wants to push the door open and leave and not look back and not feel a tear prickling at his eye, but. He can't. He needs to take what Zayn will give him or it's over between him and Waliyha. He takes a breath and turns around, waiting.
Zayn looks hesitant, strangely. There's an odd energy between them.
"I. Sorry." Zayn's looking at the floor. "I've been an asshole. My sister's been with tons of bad dudes in the past, I just didn't want it to happen again. You're a good guy, I just wasn't expecting it."
Harry shrugs, defeated. "Whatever."
Zayn steps forward, anticipating Harry's exit. "No, I mean. Let me help you."
"How can you help me?"
"I know Wal, don't I? Better than you think you do, anyway. I can help you, you know," he offers a real smile for the first time in weeks, "win her over," he finishes.
Harry doesn't believe it. "Really?"
Zayn looks like a twenty ton block has been lifted off his shoulders. The cold glare has left his eyes, he looks almost innocent now. "Yeah, I mean. I owe you. I have been pretty terrible."
Harry laughs. "Yeah, you have."
It's a deal.