Archive of Our Own

1924

"What are you thinking?"

Zayn blinks his eyes open. The room is bright white, sunlight drifting through the sheer curtains. It's almost completely silent save for the even breathing coming from next to him. A hand runs through his hair.

"Zayn." His eyes drift closed again, content. "Babe." There's amusement in the deep voice, the word coming out slow.

"I'm happy," he finally replies, turning into the touch. "I'm just happy.

"Me too."

His eyes blink open, meet the green, green eyes of the boy next to him, taking in the tangle of curls, messy from sleep, the pink, pink lips that are angled up in a crooked smile. Fingers trace down his cheek, over his jaw, grazing his chest before the hand stops to rest flat on his stomach. The boy shifts closer, laying flush against Zayn's side, nose inches from Zayn's cheek.

"I'm glad you stayed," he says after a few minutes, eyes glued to where his fingers are softly scratching Zayn's stomach.

"Where else would I have gone?" Zayn replies easily, racking his brain for anywhere else he would rather be; nowhere comes to mind. He reaches down, stops the scratching motion by interlacing their fingers. “Where else could I possibly want to be?”

"You've never stayed before," the boy replies with a small shrug, and he still won't look at Zayn. Zayn can't think of a response, can’t think of a single reason he'd want to be anywhere but in this bed; this warm, gorgeous guy curled up next to him. So instead he turns, kissing the boy's forehead softly, a firm press of lips that lingers a few seconds before Zayn buries his nose in his curls, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes drift closed. There's a soft sigh next to him, a squeeze from the hand that is clasping his, and a small kiss to his shoulder.

He falls back to sleep within minutes.

2015

October has been a mix of cold rain, grey skies, brown leaves, dormant trees, and way, way too low of temperatures. The dead grass crunches under foot as Zayn walks across campus towards the arts building, one bare hand cradling a steaming cup of coffee while the other is buried deep in the pocket of his leather jacket.

It’s too early in the year for it to be this cold.

Yet here they are, campus almost deserted, buildings grey and imposing, the few students who have braved the cold downpour walking with their heads down to ward off the sharp bite of the wind.

Zayn has a black beanie pulled low over his ears, his hair is long enough now that tiny black curls peak out from underneath. He should probably cut it soon but he really just can’t be bothered to.

He’s shivering by the time he gets to the arts building, his jeans and backpack soaked through. The building is smaller than most of the others on campus; only three stories tall but just as aged, all grey bricks and too few windows. The large black roof makes it look even more dismal than usual in this weather. The wooden door is heavy and lights flicker as it slams shut behind him, the hallway ahead ill lit and rather depressing. It feels cold and impersonal and Zayn shakes his head as he pulls the beanie off, heading up the large staircase towards the private studios upper level students are assigned. The building is mostly deserted and he passes just one student on his way up to the third floor, only a few lights dimly shining from underneath the office doors that belong to the art professors even fewer coming from the studios.

His own studio is an organized mess; paints lining the shelves, a primer bottle sitting next to the canvas he had started working on the night before, brushes drying next to the tiny paint covered sink. He’s lucky enough to have been assigned a space with windows just a small row of rectangular shaped glass that overlooks the currently deserted quad. He takes a second to survey the room, listening to the steady sound of the rain hitting the windows, both hands now wrapped around the styrofoam cup to draw warmth from it. He’ll have to drag out the box with his winter gear this weekend, packed up in the attic of the tiny flat he shares with Louis. He wonders if the landlord will cut the heat on today.

It’s too cold for early October.

Sighing, he sets the coffee down on the windowsill and flips on the switch to his space heater before turning to the easel that is set up in the middle of the room, trying to figure out where exactly he wants to go with his latest painting. So far it’s just greens and chocolate browns; it’s abstract but not his usual style. He likes blacks and reds and more lines than this painting has.

But hey, that’s the point of the final project, right? So they can come up with something that is outside their usual style. Still, he just can’t seem to work out where he is going with this particular piece. Sighing, he pulls out his earbuds and plugs them into his phone, pulling up the playlist Louis had made for him the night before. “Broadening your horizons,” he had said as he synced the playlist. “Giving you something new to inspire that new style of painting.” Louis may be a little over the top most of the time but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t right there for the people in his life when they need him.

Zayn frowns, looking at the display on his phone.He’s never heard Louis listen to opera but the opening notes to Der Leiermann slowly start and he closes his eyes, just for a second, as the singing starts, swaying slightly with the piano. Not his usual cup of tea but when his eyes blink slowly open, he walks quickly over to easel and carefully replaces the canvas with a blank one. Quickly reaching for his paints, he mixes a light green and, with a slow movement, lifts the brush to the canvas, making gentle, steady strokes.

He loses himself in the music as he paints, stopping only when the playlist ends, to step back and look at what he’s done. It’s all green eyes and chocolate curls, strong jawline and pouty lips. He frowns, tries to remember where he may have seen this face before. He’s spent most of his time in the studio these past few weeks, or at the flat that he shares with Louis, avoiding the cold and working on his end of semester project. He doesn’t remember ever having seen the boy before. It’s possible that they have passed each other on campus, or sat next to each other at the campus coffee shop, possible that Zayn cast a wayward glance at him and for some reason the face just stuck with him.

Zayn glances towards the window only to see that the rain is still falling in steady streams and the sky has gone from a light grey to a darker black. He finally pulls the earbuds out of his ears and glances down at his phone, notices the three missed texts and two missed calls from Louis. He swipes across the screen and quickly types in his passcode. It’s after five, somehow he has lost almost six hours of his day to the painting without even realizing it. He pulls up his contacts and taps Louis’ name, walking over to the sink to rinse his brushes as the call connects.

“The fuck, Zayn?” Louis greets after just one ring. “I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon.”

“Sorry, mate.” He shrugs even though Louis can’t see him. “Got caught up in some work. Can you come get me?” Louis sighs heavily on the other end and Zayn can hear shuffling. He sets the now clean brushes on the towel next to the sink to dry and runs his hands under the tap. “I didn’t realize it was getting dark. I’ll buy dinner?”

“Outside the art building?” Louis sighs again, heavier this time, and there’s more shuffling as he probably pulls his Toms on.

“Yeah.” Zayn walks back over to the painting, studying it, noting the places that he’ll need to touch-up.

“Be there in ten.” Then Louis is gone, line going silent against Zayn’s ear. He takes a few more moments to look at the canvas, frowning at his shading. He turns to grab his messenger bag and now cold coffee before heading out the door, locking it behind him.

There only seems to be one other person on the floor as Zayn makes his way down the hallway and he stops in front of their door, which is cracked slightly, before he lightly taps on it. A flurry of blond hair and bright blue eyes look up from the desk where the girl is sitting, sketch pad in front of her. “Hey, Zayn.” She smiles brightly, “Didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Pez,” he says, “I was just finishing up.” He leans against the doorjamb, and glances around her space. “You almost done? I’ll walk you down.” His gaze finally lands back on her, brown eyes meeting her blue. “You mind if I toss this here?” He doesn’t wait for a reply as he leans in and gently sets the coffee cup in her trash bin.

She nods, setting the charcoal she’s holding down next to the pad, casting the drawing one final glance before standing up and grabbing her jacket off of the back of the chair and pulling it on. Grabbing her purse, she walks towards him, still smiling. “You need a ride?” She asks, and he steps back, watching as she turns off the light and closes the door before locking it. “It’s getting nasty out there”

He shakes his head, falling in to step next to her. “Lou’s on his way. How’s your project going?” They turn, quietly making their way down the stairs.

She frowns, looking frustrated. “It’s going okay, I guess.” She says, sounding unsure. Casting him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, “Not as smooth as I thought it would. You?”

“Same.” He sighs as they reach the second landing, “Think I’ll ask DeMarco to come in and critique what I have so far.” He waits for her to start descending the final, more narrow stairway before following behind.

“I thought Professor Leonard was your advisor?” She looks back at him over her shoulder

“Always gotten on better with DeMarco.” He readjusts the strap of his messenger bag, pulling it closer to his body. She hums in understanding, turning back around as they reach the first floor. Zayn takes his still slightly damp beanie out and pulls it on, turning back to find Perrie watching him, a small smile on her face.

“I like this,” she reaches out and gently tugs on his hair that is, once again, poking out from underneath the beanie, “It’s a good length right now.” He blushes and looks down at his feet. They’ve known each other for two years now, since the first Intro to Art History class that is required for art majors. They have shared most of the same classes since then, too. There could be more there, between them, if he wanted it, he knows. And Perrie is nice, she really is, undoubtedly pretty as well.

“Been thinking of cutting it,” he says instead, finally looking back up at her. “Gettin’ a bit long.”

“Well I think it looks good on you.” She’s still smiling up at him both hands wrapped gently around the handle of her pink purse. It’s then that he realizes that she is dressed in all pink; dark pink jeans and a light pink blouse buttoned over a white shirt, pink pea coat opened over it all even pink boots to top off the outfit. That is the type of thing he would notice sooner, if he wanted more, he thinks, watching as she pulls out a pink beanie and pulls it on. “Where is Louis picking you up?”

“‘Around front.” He tilts his head towards the back doors, behind them. “You out front?”

“Yeah” she says, taking a step back; she’s still smiling, “You don’t have to walk me out there, I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, follows her step anyway and then walks past her. He may not want to date her but he is a gentleman, and it has gotten dark outside. Campus may not be a dangerous place but it’s still not the most safe and he’ll be damned if he’ll let her walk to her car alone.

“It’s fine, it’s only a few more steps from the road.” He opens the door, letting her pass through it before following her, shivering as the cold air hits him. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his bag and falls back into step next to her. “You mind?” He holds up the pack with one hand while digging his lighter out of his jacket pocket with the other.

“No.” She shakes her head, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket, “Didn’t know you smoked.” She pauses when he does, watching as he lifts the cigarette to his lips and cups a hand around it so he can light it.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer any more just starts walking again, pace slow as she catches up. He turns his head so he can blow the smoke away from her.

“This weather is crazy, huh?” She asks after a few seconds of silence. “They said it may snow next week.”

He nods, taking another drag before looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “Yeah. Wouldn’t bother me if it weren’t for the rain.” They reach the parking lot and Perrie starts making her way towards her tiny red Volkswagen with Zayn close behind.

“So, hey,” she says turning to him once they reach the car, “My friend Jade is having this party on Friday and I was thinking maybe you could stop by.” She looks away briefly before chancing a glance back up at him, “You could bring your friend? Lou?”

Zayn takes another drag of the cigarette before throwing the butt on the ground and stubbing it out with his toe. “I’ll ask if he wants to. Yeah.” He says, looking towards the road Louis should be coming down.

“Cool.” She sways slightly, smile still in place. “Just let me know so I can tell you where it is. You coming again in tomorrow?”

He finally looks back at her, “Seeing what the weather will be before I decide. But I’ll text you, yeah?”

She smiles and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, “Okay” She says before turning to face her car, unlocking it she casts him one final look as she pulls the door open, “Thanks for walking me out.”

“Anytime.” He smiles, meaning it, and reaches out for the door to close it softly behind her. He waits until the car is started before he heads back towards the main road where Louis is already waiting for him.

~~~

1856

“Heeeey.”

At first Zayn ignores the low drawn out voice and continues watching people slowly making their way into the theater “Z. Heeeey. Zeeeeeee.” He can’t keep the grin off of his face this time and he casts a glance over his shoulder towards the wall of curtains that separate the balcony from the lobby.

“C’mere.” A mischievous grin and those green eyes are peeking around from the other side of the curtain, one hand gripping the fabric to hold it slightly open, “Sit with us.”

“I can’t.” He looks back at his parents who have already taken their seats; two of his sisters sit next to them, bickering quietly.

“We have room. Gem didn’t come.” The boy steps around the curtain fully, standing in front a Zayn in a slightly rumbled suit, curls only slightly more tame than usual. “Just ask.” He nods towards Zayn’s parents, eyes twinkling.

“No.” Zayn shakes his head but can’t help to grin back a little.

“Harry!”

Zayn startles slightly before he turns to find both of his parents are looking back at them. His mother offers the other boy, Harry, a small smile while his dad remains silent, assessing him. “How are you dear?”

“Great.” Harry dimples at her, folding his hands behind his back. He takes the few steps to closer to lessen the space between them, “And how are you, Mrs. Malik?”
“I’m well.” Her smile widens and Zayn fights the urge to roll his eyes. “How are your parents?”

“Very well.” He inches ever so slightly towards her and offers her an even bigger smile than before, “I was actually just wondering if you and Mr. Malik would mind if Zayn joined us in our box? Gemma wasn’t feeling well so we have an extra seat.”

“I don't see why that would be an issue.” She turns to her husband, “Yaser?”

Yaser assesses Harry one more time, eyes critical. “Your parents won’t mind?” he asks, finally.

“No, sir. It was actually me mums idea.” Harry stands up straight and chances a glance back at Zayn. “We all enjoy Zayn’s company.”

Yaser eyes Zayn, brown eyes narrowed slightly before giving a slight nod. “Meet us in the lobby after the show, then.”

“Of course.” Zayn promises as he takes a step back towards the curtain.

“Mr. Malik, Mrs. Malik.” Harry turns to each of them respectively, a polite smile on his face. “Little Maliks.” The grin he gives Zayn’s sisters is more playful, and they both giggle as he turns, offering Zayn a wider grin as he walks towards him, “Ready?”

“Mum, dad.” Zayn gives a small wave to his parents before turning to follow Harry out into the lobby.

“See? Easy.” Harry turns to him, hands still tucked behind his back. “Would you fancy a walk around the courtyard before the show? Get some fresh air?”

“I think it’s about to start.” Zayn glance around as the crowd starts to dissipate, families heading towards their seats.

“Come on,” Harry tilts his head towards a side door, one that leads out to a closed in courtyard, “We can be a bit late.”

“Harry.” Zayn frowns and buries his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Come on, Zayn.” Harry takes a few small steps to close the gap between the them, “The sooner we go out there, the sooner we can get to our seats.”

“Your mum will kill us if we’re late.”

“My mum won’t care,” Harry argues softly. “Just for a bit. Please?”

“Fine. But I will not hesitate to blame you if anyone is upset.” He turns and heads towards the wooden doors that lead to the courtyard, Harry following behind him, nodding at their fellow patrons as they pass.

It’s cold outside, the wind chilly after the recent rain. Zayn slows his pace so Harry can walk beside him, heading down the stone path that leads them away from the theater and towards the small spring that runs alongside it. There is only one other couple outside, the guy is leaning towards the girl, his mouth inches from her ear. She giggles and looks up at Zayn and Harry as they pass, offering them a smile before ducking her head and turning her attention back to the man.

“I don’t care for the opera, if I’m quite honest.” Harry waits until they are out of earshot, hands still behind his back, before he speaks. “I do quite like seeing you all dressed up, though.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Zayn quirks a half smile at Harry and crosses his arms over his chest, shivering slightly, “It’s quite cold out here.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. They pass a changing tree, leaves half orange and half brown. The groundskeepers have done a good job of keeping up and only a few lay dead in the turning grass. “We won’t be out long.”

“Where are we going?” Zayn looks up at the sky, blinks back at the stars that are shining brightly above them.

“There’s a bench just down a ways, by the creek.” Harry has moved closer, their shoulders brushing with each step, “Hidden in the trees.” He finally let’s his arms fall from behind his back and catches Zayn’s wrist in his hand.

“Harry,” Zayn hisses, casting a furtive glance behind them. The couple from just earlier has disappeared inside already and they are completely alone, the nightly completely silent around them. Still looking behind them, Zayn trips over something in the pathway, panicking momentarily as his body pitches forward.Then Harry’s hands are there, one on his shoulder and the other on his waist, steadying him.

“Careful.” When Zayn looks up at Harry, he is looking back down at him, face giving away his amusement.

“You are kind of a twat sometimes.” Zayn steps back out of his hold and looks away. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

Harry takes a step closer, and then another, closing the space between them, “You love me anyways.”

That has Zayn turning back to Harry, meeting his gaze head on. He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and bites down. “I guess so,” he offers after a pause.

“You guess?” Harry lets out a strained laugh and looks away, taking a step back, his hands finding their way into his pockets. He shivers slightly as the wind picks up.

Zayn finally gives in and pulls both hands from his pockets to reach out. He runs his hands up and down Harry’s arms. “Yes, I love you despite you being a massive twat at times,” he says after a few seconds and finally, finally Harry looks back down at him, eyes twinkling.

“And I’m the twat?”

“You’re the massive twat,” Zayn corrects. He stares just a few more seconds before pushing himself up, lips grazing Harry’s. He pauses, his eyes slipping closed as Harry closes the distance between them fully, soft lips pressing firmly against Zayn’s. It lasts seconds, minutes, Zayn doesn't know, he loses track of time, but it’s not long enough before Harry is pulling back.

Zayn is still gripping his shoulders tightly, eyes closed and lips slightly parted when Harry runs the back of his hand down his cheek. When Zayn opens his eyes again, Harry is looking down at him, the expression on his face nothing but fond.

“Babe, you know I love you,” Zayn says after a few seconds and Harry’s hand falls away as he takes a step back, turning his head to look back at the theater. “We’ve been over this, how can you still doubt it?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away just purses his lips in thought, eyebrows drawing together as he frowns. “It’s not that I doubt it,” he starts, “I just question if you love me as much as I love you.”

“What kind of shit is that?” Zayn is frowning now too and he moves so that he is standing in front of Harry. Harry still won’t look at him, eyes locked firmly on the stone building behind Zayn. “It’s not a competition Harry.”

“I’m not saying it is.” Their eyes finally lock as Harry looks down at him, curls brushing over his forehead as another gust of wind blows around them. Zayn reaches out to push it out of his eyes because he knows Harry won’t, but stops mid-movement, arm suspended between them. Harry shakes his head and looks away. “I’m not saying it is,” he says again. “It’s just,” he pauses and takes another step back, buries his hands in his pockets once more, “Why won’t you come to London with me?” He looks back at Zayn, eyes narrow and bottom lip out just slightly in a pout. Zayn doesn’t think that Harry even realizes that he does it or that it makes him look years younger.

“I’ve got a full scholarship to Cambridge, Harry. London wasn’t willing to offer me enough to cover even half of my tuition. We can’t afford it, you know that.”

“There are other schools in London,” Harry says, not for the first time. Zayn lets his hand drop, Harry’s eyes tracking the motion.

“It’s Cambridge. None of those other schools could even compare. Besides I don’t see you making the effort to go anywhere but London.” Harry scoffs at that and looks down, kicking at a crack in the walkway.

“You know I can’t get in there, Zayn. My marks were hardly good enough for London. If I weren’t a legacy student, I probably wouldn’t have even gotten in.”

“Look, Haz. It’ll work out. We’ll be fine. We’ll both go get uni over with and once I graduate, I’ll head to London. It’s just a few more years.”

Keeping his head down, Harry finally lifts his eyes to look up at Zayn, “You’ll forget about me,” he says. “You’ll get there and then you’ll only ever come home on holiday. There will be some beautiful girl that you meet and you’ll fall in love with her and end up married just like you’re supposed to. You’ll forget about me.”

“What? What are you even on about?” It comes out louder than he intended so Zayn casts a quick glance around the courtyard to guarantee that they are still alone before lowering his voice and leaning in closer to Harry. “You’re out of your mind. I could never forget you. Never.”

Harry lifts one shoulder in a half shrug and lifts his head higher, but he won’t quite meet Zayn’s eyes; instead he looks further down the path in the direction they had originally been headed.

“Why are you so convinced that I’m not just as crazy about you as you are me?” Zayn closes the space between them again, pulling his hand out of his pocket so he can reach out and grip Harry’s wrist with his fingers. “Why is that concept so ridiculous for you? I am the one who pursued you, remember?”

It’s hard to make out his expression in the dark but there is moonlight reflecting off of his eyes. Zayn can faintly read the sad look on Harry’s face just from that. “Haz. I love you.” He reaches up, cups Harry’s jaw with his hand and lightly pushes his face so that Harry is finally looking at him. “Love, I could never, ever forget you.”

“I don’t want you to leave me behind.” It’s such a quiet confession that it takes Zayn a second to process that Harry has even spoken.

“I won’t, I promise.” Zayn shakes his head, frowning.

“And I feel like if you go to Cambridge, you will,” Harry continues as if Zayn hadn’t even spoken.

“You don’t think I’m just as scared of you going to London? What’s to stop you from meeting some pretty bird somewhere along the way and settling down? Your parent’s are probably looking just as hard as mine are.”

“Nah.” Harry smiles, but it’s more bitter than anything else. He shakes his head, shakes Zayn’s hand away too. “My parents know I’m different. We’ve never talked about it, not outright, but they know. It’s like,” he pauses and shakes his head again, looks up at the sky and stays silent for beat, the moonlight catching on the silver cross around his neck, “It’s like they’ll be okay with it as long as we never talk about it. With me liking blokes, I mean. Being in love with you. They adore you, you know.” That brings a real smile to his face and he looks down at Zayn, “I mean, how could they not?”

Zayn blushes and looks way.

“Just as long as we don’t have to talk about it,” Harry repeats again. Zayn can feel his gaze on the side of his face. “I feel like that’s impossible for you. I don't think your family will ever be as okay with it.”

“They don’t have to be,” Zayn interrupts and looks back at Harry. “They don’t have to know. Like I said, we each go to uni, and once I finish at Cambridge, I’ll head to London. It’ll work out.”

“It doesn’t always work like that, and you know it.”

“So what?” Zayn explodes, he turns and takes a few steps away from Harry before turning back around, eyes blazing.He motions between them. “You just want to end this?”

“No!” Harry moves closer to Zayn, “No. No Zayn.” He closes his eyes. He’s shivering harder now and Zayn shakes his head before moving closer and running his hands back up and down his arms like he had before. He won’t look up though, can’t take his eyes off of the top button of Harry’s shirt.

“I need to get you inside. You’re too cold and you’ll catch your death if we keep standing out here.” Zayn’s voice is low and strained.He clears his throat before he starts speaking again, “We will finish this discussion later.” He lifts his eyes to find Harry staring down at him, eyes wide and wet. “But I really need for you to stop thinking that I’m going to leave you, and don’t you ever, ever think that I’ll forget you, because I won’t. I can’t and I won’t. Ever.”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip before leaning slightly forward and placing a chaste kiss on Zayn’s lips. He reaches down to intertwine their fingers before he pulls Zayn towards the theater.

2015.

It’s two weeks later when a “So, what exactly are you dreaming about, mate?” startles Zayn awake, his eyes flying open at the sound of Louis’ voice. His room is still dark, the only light coming from the slightly ajar door. He looks around, confused before finally spotting Louis perched on the old wooden chair that Zayn usually keeps at his desk. Louis pulls a face and raises one of his eyebrows.

“What are you on about?” Zayn runs his hands over his face, eyes drifting closed again, moments from going back to sleep.

“Nah, mate, you’ve got to get up. Liam’s on his way to make us brekkie and then we’re marathoning Batman.”

“Can’t.” Zayn turns over and buries his face in his pillow, “Classes and studio”

“Campus is closed. Snowed all night, it did.” Louis is too chipper, sounding more like a 12 year old excited over a snow day than the 20 year old that he is.

“What?” Zayn sits up at that, blankets falling around his waist

“I know you can’t see it due to the massive amount of blackout curtains on your windows, but we’re basically stuck here.” Louis grins and stands up. “Thank god Liam only lives a few blocks away. We’d proper starve if he wasn’t around to cook for us.”

“I do alright in the kitchen,” Zayn frowns, falling back against his pillows, “We’d probably survive”

“Maybe.” Louis doesn’t sound very convinced as walks towards Zayn’s bed

“Don’t you dare.” Zayn glares as Louis comes closer, untrusting.

“Dare what?” Louis’ grin is pure evil and Zayn has about two seconds to prepare himself before Louis has jumped on top of him, reaching out to pinch his nipple.

“What the fuck is your obsession with that, you wanker?” Zayn manages to grab one of Louis’ hands and is attempting to thwart the attack from his other hand while pushing Louis off at the same time. Louis cackles and falls back jumping to his knees a few seconds later before making his way up so that he is standing over Zayn.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asks again, hands on his hips.

“I don’t remember it.” Zayn throws and his arm over his eyes and attempts to let sleep overtake him but Louis bounces a little bit and Zayn finally abandons hope.

“None of it?”

“No. Why? It wasn’t a sex dream, I remember that well enough.”

“You were talking.” Louis shrugs and finally moves to lay down next to Zayn. “You were mumbling though, couldn’t make out what you were saying. It wasn’t happy.”

Zayn frowns and stares up at his ceiling. “I don’t remember it,” he repeats. “Just the bloke, vaguely.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know him.”

“You can’t dream about someone you’ve never seen. It’s scientifically proven.”

Zayn looks over at Louis, disbelieving, “Where do you even get this stuff?”

“Read it somewhere just the other day. Your mind can’t make people up, or somethin’ like that.” He rolls off the other side of the bed before stretching and looking down at Zayn, “Doesn’t really matter if you can’t remember him, anyways.” Louis pinches his side, fingers pulling at Zayn’s side roughly. Zayn yelps and moves to slide away from Louis but Louis is quicker and pulls Zayn’s head down, burying Zayn’s face against his chest.

“Why are you such a massive twat?” Zayn chokes out, struggling to back out of Louis hold. “Seriously.”

“You love me,” Louis cackles, legitimately cackles, burying a hand in Zayn’s hair and tugging roughly before sliding over to the other side of the bed and running for the door.

“It’s too early for this, Lou,” Zayn calls, sitting up and running his own hand through his mess of hair. He hears a faint knock at the front door followed by Louis’ loud steps as he runs for it echoing off of the floorboards. Then, the front door banging open as Louis shouts, screams, really, Liam’s name. It briefly crosses Zayn’s mind that the people who live below them may very well be plotting their murders at this very moment. He shrugs off the thought and slides out of bed, pulling on a pair of joggers before heading for the kitchen.

Liam’s been hanging around since the end of the Spring semester, so Zayn’s not exactly sure how he manages to look startled in Louis presence. Somehow, though, he still does; standing in their tiny living room full of second hand furniture, dirty dishes and school books scattered everywhere. He’s holding a bag from Tesco, brown eyes wide as he watches Louis, who is loudly and in vivid detail describing a dream he’d had a few nights before.

“Hey, mate.” Zayn says as he heads for the window that overlooks the garden. Sure enough, the ground is covered in a few inches of snow and there’s still a steady stream of falling powder. Everything looks pale and muted, sky grey and the few trees in the space a dull tan color, branches already covered in white. Cold air seeps through the poor insulation and Zayn shivers, crossing his arms over his bare chest, “Bad out there?”

“Hey Zayn!” Liam is also too damn cheerful for it being this early in the morning. He gives Louis one more glance, still looking completely overwhelmed, before turning back to Zayn. “Not too bad yet. I imagine it will be if it doesn’t let up soon, though.” He turns towards their tiny kitchen and heads for the stove. Placing the bag on the counter, he grabs a skillet from the drain tray and puts it on a burner before he starts digging through the bag.

“Going to do a right proper fry up then, yeah?” Louis asks from where he is now perched on the counter opposite Liam, “Right proper breakfast?”

Liam shoots him a look over his shoulder before carefully placing the eggs on the counter and pulling a pack of bacon out of the bag, “Not without help.”

Zayn laughs as he walks past the rickety dining room table with mismatched chairs to join them in the kitchen. He grabs the kettle from next to the sink and fills it up. “Mate, you don’t want him anywhere near food that is in the process of being cooked. Shouldn’t you know that by now?”

“Hey!” Louis whines, hopping off of the counter. “I’m feeling very attacked right now. Liam, tell him not to attack me.”

“He’s right though, isn’t he?” Liam moves to the side enough to give Zayn room to turn the kettle on. “You could set the table instead, though. And Zayn can fry up some bread?”

“He’s not better than I am.” Louis calls as he heads for the cabinets that hold their plates, “Unless it’s from a can.”

“How do you guys even survive?” Liam casts a worried glance at Zayn before turning back to the skillet and carefully cracking open an egg.

“He’s exaggerating. I can do alright.” Zayn pulls three mugs down from the cabinet and puts a tea bag in each, “I get us fed almost every night.”

“Beans and toast!” Louis says loudly from where he’s setting the table.

“That’s your specialty, love,” Zayn calls back as he moves back to the stove.

“No wonder you’re both so tiny.” Liam shakes his head, “I’m gonna have to start feeding you more often.”

“Louis would love that.” Zayn smirks, “Do I have a have time for a quick smoke?” He motions towards the fire escape that doubles as their patio.

“Yeah, yeah.” Liam nods, already pulling out another skillet for the bacon, “Don’t take long, though. And don’t let the cold air in.”

Louis re-enters the kitchen and rolls his eyes. “Yes,mum,” Zayn calls out, causing Louis to snicker. He heads for his room to grab a jumper before ducking out the window that leads to the fire escape.

There’s a calmness that comes with snow; the sounds of London muted, the entire city turning into a sleepy ghost town. He can see tracks in the snow, presumably Liam’s, but other than that not many people seem to want to brave the weather. Belatedly wishing he would’ve remembered to grab his winter coat off of their sad little coat rack, he pulls the pack out and shakes a cigarette into his hand. He gets his lighter out of the front pocket of the jumper and cups his hand around the cigarette, lighting it before shoving everything, including his free hand, back into the front pocket.

He only makes it halfway through the cigarette before he’s shivering too hard to even enjoy it. His hair is slightly damp from where the snow has fallen on it, and his jumper is almost soaked through already. He stubs the cigarette out and climbs back into the flat, another powerful shiver taking over just as he slams the window shut.

“Jesus, mate, trying to catch your death out there, aren’t you?” Louis says, looking up from where he is now standing beside Liam. It’s not like he has any authority to talk because Zayn can almost guarantee that Louis’ been out there at least once today already. He smokes just as much as Zayn does but probably had even less weather appropriate clothes on. Zayn doesn’t point that out just says, “It’s too early for snow, innit?”

“It’s only supposed to get worse.” Liam is plating their food, carefully sliding eggs out of the frying pan onto plates that already have the tomatoes and fried bread on them. “They’ve already cancelled classes tomorrow too.”

“I’ve still gotta go in,” Zayn calls as he heads to his room. He shrugs out of the wet jumper and grabs a towel off the back of his chair. He runs it over his hair before grabbing another jumper. Back in the kitchen he finds Louis setting a cup of tea on the table. “What can I help with?”

“Nothing, it’s done.” Liam is carrying two plates to the table, Louis already walking away to grab the third. Liam sets a plate down in Zayn’s place before circling around to the one he has claimed as his own. “I don’t think you’ll make it into the studio Zayn. There was already a few inches when I came in today. I’m worried about even getting home meself at this point.”

“You can stay here if need be.” Louis sits down at the table, placing his plate gently down in front of him. “I think you have clothes here from last time you stayed anyway. Better than being home alone, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam agrees, grabbing the fork that Louis had set out earlier. “This is supposed to last until at least Sunday, I think.”

“My paintings are there,” Zayn shakes his head, “I’ve got to work on them. We’re getting too close to the end of the semester and I won’t finish if I don’t keep at it.”

“I’ll drive you over after breakfast, yeah?” Louis is dousing his eggs in more salt, not even looking at Zayn. “You can grab it and bring it home. Roads should be okay enough right now and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Liam’s brows furrow and he opens his mouth but Louis cuts him off with, “It’ll be fine. Better than Zayn trying to walk out in this, innit? He’ll catch his death and be buried alive if not. It’s only a five minute drive, anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” Zayn takes a small bite of he eggs before adding “We can grab groceries when we go, too. Don’t know that we have enough to last through the weekend.”

“There you go. Settled then.” Louis nods, digging into his own eggs, ignoring the scowl that Liam is still sending his way.

~~

“So who is he?” The normal five minute drive to campus had taken them almost an hour and now Louis was standing in front of the what, Zayn imagined, would be the centerpiece of his winter portfolio. It wasn’t the original that he had started a few weeks ago, but a rework. The same green eyes and pouty lips, ghosts of curls that he had yet to fill in.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs and throws a few more paints he wants to take home into the box sitting on his desk before adding in brushes and another primer. He has a few things at the flat already but he keeps most of it here, out of his already cramped bedroom, and out of the space he shares with Louis.

“But you're painting him.” Louis’ head is tilted to the side, his hands on his hips. He’s wearing an oversized grey Nike jumper and sweat pants, a black beanie pulled down over his hair, fringe sticking just slightly out. “Where’s he from?”

“Louis. I don’t know.” Zayn sighs, pausing from packing to look out the window. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know, does it?”

“So how’re things between you and Liam?” Zayn changes the subject and looks pointedly over at Louis. Louis is unfazed and glances around the room instead.

“What can I put this in?” Louis points at the canvas. “And things are fine with Liam. Good lad, isn’t he?”

“You going to ask him out?” Zayn heads for the corner of the room and pulls a canvas bag out of the drawer of the small wooden cabinet that houses more paint and primer. He tosses it to Louis before gathering up the charcoal and pastel sticks on top of the cabinet.

“Don’t know.” Louis unzips the bag and turns to carefully pick up the painting, “This is good, Zayn. A nice start. It’s going to be good.”

“Yeah?” Zayn bites his bottom lip and watches Louis for a few seconds, watches as the painted green eyes disappear behind the zipper. “Not sure where I’m going with it, really. And you should, by the way. Ask Liam out, I mean. He’s a good lad.”

“Not sure that’s the direction we should go.” Louis sets the painting against the wall and looks around the room before looking back at Zayn, “What else?”

“Think that’s it.” Zayn turns away from him and goes back towards the desk, tossing the charcoal into the box. He grabs an unused sketchpad and throws it on top before putting the lid on. He grabs his coat he had taken off when they first came in. “Why wouldn’t you go there?” He looks over at Louis as he shrugs the coat on, watches as Louis does the same with his coat. “He likes you too, you know?”

“Not sure if it’s the same, to be honest.” Louis sighs, not looking at Zayn and picks up the painting. “Think he’s quite happy with just being friends.”

“Bullocks.” Zayn grabs the box, “Mate, he walked three blocks in a blizzard to make you breakfast.” He shuffles, adjusting the box so that he can pull his keys out of his coat pocket before following Louis out of the studio. He leans the box against the wall, raising his leg so his knee can support the bottom while he pulls the door closed before locking it.

“To cook us breakfast,” Louis corrects, and he’s already halfway down the hallway, painting hanging off of one shoulder. “Us,” he repeats.

Zayn scoffs and starts after him, “He would never come over just to cook me breakfast. Come on Louis, you know this.”

“We’ve become really good friends.” He presses the button on the elevator just as Zayn reaches him. “I don’t know that I want to mess with that.”

“Louis,” Zayn starts, then stops, adjusting the box again.

Louis still won’t look at him. “He’s a good mate, ya know? He’s become more than a crush.”

“I just don’t think you should rule it out. There could totally be more for you guys.”

Louis finally looks at him, a sad smile on his face. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d fuck everything up and lose him altogether.” Louis should never be sad, Zayn thinks. Like, ever. Sadness just doesn’t work on him--he's supposed to be bubbly and constantly have that damn mischievous smile on his face; you’re always supposed to wonder what he’s up to. Not sad.

Zayn drops it, changes the subject to what they need from the store. Then Louis starts bitching about how slow the elevator is which leads to Zayn snipping, “This is why I take the stairs.” That leads to Louis telling him he can go fuck himself if he thinks that Louis is going to carry this “heavy as fucking hell” bag down the stairs. It’s really not that heavy but when it’s all said and done it takes them over fifteen minutes just to get out of the building and back on the road to Tesco.

It’s another thirty minutes of battling the other last minute shoppers and then a twenty minute drive back home. By the time they lug the box and bags of groceries and painting upstairs, Liam is curled up asleep on the old brown sofa that Zayn had nicked off of one of his cousins when he first moved to London with a Friends rerun playing on the TV in front of him.

“Oi.” Louis shakes his head and carefully sets one of the bags on the kitchen floor before carefully leaning the painting against the wall. “He should help with the rest of the bags, should he not?” His hands are back on his hips, brow creased in a frown

“Leave him be, no use in him getting out and chilled when we’re already cold. There are only a few more bags.” Zayn sets his own bag next to the one Louis had sat down before taking the box of his supplies into his room. When he walks back out, Louis is throwing the afghan that is usually on the back of the couch over Liam.

Zayn clears his throat and Louis turns and looks at him. Zayn just smirks, raises an eyebrow.

“He shivered,” Louis whispers loudly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I do the same for you all of the time.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Zayn is still smirking as he heads of the door. Louis follows behind him, voice high as he whispers a mocking, “I didn’t say anything,” at Zayn’s back.

~

1930

“About time you got up,” Harry looks up from the newspaper in front of him, tea cup halfway to his lips. He’s shirtless, the tiny silver cross he wears around his neck resting against his pale chest, black slacks and socks already on. Zayn doesn’t reply, just slides into the chair closest to Harry’s and lays his head on the table. “You okay?” There’s the sound of the cup being set down on the table and then Harry’s hand is on the back of his neck, rubbing gently before making it’s way up into Zayn’s short hair. Prelude in C Major is playing softly from the phonograph in the corner of the room.

“Tired,” Zayn mumbles into the wood

Harry makes a sympathetic noise before removing his hand and turning back to his breakfast. Zayn lifts his head, blinking at the brightness of the sun that is shining in from the window above the kitchen sink, “Why am I in love with a morning person?”

“Not a morning person.” Harry shakes his head, eyes back on the newspaper. He takes a sip of his tea before setting the cup in front of Zayn and picking up his fork and digging into his eggs. “There’s a plate on the counter for you.”

“Thanks,” Zayn picks up the cup and takes a sip, eyes still on Harry. “You working late tonight?”

“Don’t know. Why?”

“Thought that we could go down to the new restaurant downtown. Lou said it was good. Been forever since we’ve gone out.”

“I’ll try to get out early.” Harry finally looks over at him, slowly setting the newspaper down on the table. His hair is shorter, curled closer to his ears; still, it’s long enough to look artfully messy. “It has been a while,” he reaches out, covers one of Zayn’s hands with his own. “We used to go out all the time.” He sounds wistful and a slight frown plays at his lips, eyes not completely focused on Zayn.

“I don’t want to be an adult anymore.,” Zayn declares, standing up and walking over to the counter to grab the plate of eggs and toast. “We both work too much.”

“At least you don’t work with your father,” Harry sighs and stands up, grabbing his plate. He heads to the sink before setting it down gently. “We still need to talk about Christmas.”

“What about it?” Zayn sits down again and glances up at Harry. “Come sit with me. You’ve got time.”

Harry grabs another mug and fills it with hot water from the kettle before adding tea and heading back to the table. He sits in the same chair he’d been in. Using the sugar and milk on the table, he prepares it before lifting it to his lips and taking a sip, his eyes glued to the wall in front of him. Zayn looks up, eyes drifting down to Harry’s lips, before making his way back to looking at his eyes. “What about Christmas?” he asks, taking a bite of his eggs without looking away.

“My father thinks I’m going to the country with them.”

“So tell him you’re not. We’ve decided to stay here this year. Just us.”

“And how do I tell him that? ‘Hey dad, I’ve decided to stay in London with my lover, you know the guy you don’t approve of me living with, and you definitely won’t approve of me fucking. Anyway, Merry Christmas to you and mom!’ I don’t think think that will go over too well.”

“It’s more than fucking.” Zayn looks down at his plate, sets the fork down and picks up his nearly empty cup of lukewarm tea. He grimaces as he takes a sip and hears Harry sigh. He still doesn’t look at him as Harry takes his cup from him and replaces it with his own hot cup. “It’s more than fucking,” Zayn repeats.

“Of course it is,” Harry agrees softly “You know I love you. But they can’t know. You know they can’t know. And so far this is working, isn’t it? For now?”

“For how long, though?” Zayn finally looks at him, raising one eyebrow. “Don’t think that I don’t know that your mother is having girls over to your Sunday dinners trying to set you up with them. Don’t tell me that they aren’t getting antsy about you settling down.”

“They are,” Harry admits with a sad smile. “But,” he pauses and takes a sip of the tea in his hands, making a face he sets the cup down and takes his original cup back from Zayn. He takes another sip and then he set’s it between them.

“But?” Zayn prompts, watching Harry’s face carefully.

“You know how the branch we’re opening is in Manchester?” Harry looks at him, meets his eyes, and continues without waiting for an answer, “Dad asked me if I would be willing to go to Manchester to help out when it opens. I told him I’d consider it.”

“Harry. What?” Zayn is frowning, shaking his head. He pushes back slightly from the table, “What the hell?”

“Hear me out. Just hear me out.” Harry pushes back from the table as well, “If I already have a job there, it’ll be easy for us to move. I can go, and a few weeks later you can come join me. My parents won’t know, or care, we’ll be closer to your family but far enough away that they won’t suspect much. You can come and get a job and we can--” He pauses to pick up the cloth napkin that had been laying next to his plate. He wipes his mouth and he gently folds it before setting it back down on the table. “We can start over, kind of. Nobody there knows us, we can get a house and not have to worry about family hovering and asking questions.”

“I don’t know.” Zayn shakes his head, he won’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Our friends are here. We have a life here.”

“We’ll have a life there, Zayn. Yeah, it will suck to leave our friends behind, to leave my family behind. Even though they won’t accept this,” he motions between them, “even though they can’t understand what we have, they are still a damn good family. They’ve been good to me.And London is the only place I’ve ever lived. It’s home. It’s basically all I know. So, yes, it will suck to leave. But,” he pauses, bites his lip, stays quiet for a few beats, “You’d be worth it.” He finishes with his eyes wide and vulnerable as he finally looks up at Zayn, “You are worth it.”

“Babe. I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeats, unsure and suddenly conflicted. “I just don’t know.”

“Zayn,” Harry slides out of his chair and kneels in front of Zayn, puts his hands on Zayn’s upper thigh, “Just try. We can try it. If it isn’t working, we come back. I’d still have a job waiting for me at this branch, and if you give enough notice Mrs. McCoulgh will hire you back at the gallery. Lou will still be here, my family will still be here, and we’ll go back to this. But we need to try. We need to see if it’s better without my father breathing down my neck.”

“I don’t know.” It’s the only thing that Zayn knows to say right now but he does look up to meet Harry’s gaze.

“I can’t leave you behind.” Harry shakes his head, “We’ll stay here, if you really want us to. I’ll tell my dad I don’t want the job and we’ll just stay here. Keep eating Sunday roast separately, splitting holidays. You’ll still have to leave me every few months to go visit your family. Meet the girls that they introduce you to.” Harry shrugs, looking away. He looks so young at that moment, much younger than his 23 years.

Zayn reaches out, covers one of Harry’s hands with his own, gently runs the other through Harry’s hair, fingers pulling gently at his curls.

“I’m scared that if we stay you’ll want to go back to Bradford one day and not come back to London,” Harry says softly. “That you’ll leave me to go home.”

“I’m not leaving you, Harry. Someday you’ll regret that you can’t fucking get rid of me.” Zayn’s lips quirk up in a cocky smile, “If I have my way, you’re stuck with me, baby.”

“You’re annoying,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. Still, it brings a small smile to his face. “Obviously it’s something we need to think about, and talk more about. But I needed to put the idea out there.”

“We’ll talk more tonight.” Zayn pulls his hands away, wipes them against his flannel pajama bottoms, “You’re going to be late.”

Harry sighs, standing up and leaning down to softly kiss Zayn, “Dinner tonight then, I promise I won’t be late.”

“Mm,” Zayn shakes his head, smiling up at his boyfriend. “We’ll see”

~~

2015

It’s been two straight weeks of snow. The ground is covered in layers and layers of the stuff, so much so that Zayn isn’t even sure they’ll ever be able to find the ground again. Most of his art professors have handed out final projects already so that the students can work from home and his English professor has taken to emailing them all of their reading and assignments. The university is in the precarious position of trying to figure out how to hold enough classes to finish the semester but not wanting to risk the students trying to come in.

They are all going stir crazy in the meantime and Louis is about to drive them all insane. Liam has all but moved in with them, alternating between crashing on the sofa and staying in Louis’ room since it’s easier than trying to get home.

Zayn has moved on to a second draft of his painting, the first one sitting abandoned by his closet door. This one has deeper browns for the curls and lighter greens for the eyes, the subject is looking away from the viewer as opposed to the last one where he was staring directly back.

“So who is he?” Zayn jumps and turns to look at Liam as he slinks into his room, arms crossed over his Nike jumper, grey joggers low on his hips. “You seem to paint him a lot.”

“Don’t know.” Zayn shrugs and turns back to the painting, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“Just painting some random bloke, then?” Liam has moved to stand just behind Zayn a half-smile on his lips.

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’, turning his head slightly to the side to get a different angle.

“He’s pretty, though”

“He is.”

“He your type then?”

Zayn looks over his shoulder and frowns “Whatcha getting at, Payno?”

Liam bites his lip and looks away, out the window above Zayn’s bed. The curtains are pulled open for once so that Zayn has better light to paint by. It’s only snowing lightly right now, a small flurry of white flakes falling slowly. The clouds are heavy and grey and Zayn imagines it’s only a matter of time before it gets heavier.

“Just not something we’ve really talked about.” Liam answers finally, arms still crossed. “We just don’t talk as much. I know just about everything there is to know about Tommo, but not you. I’ve never heard you mention fancying anyone, don’t even know what you look for in someone.”

Zayn studies him for a few seconds longer before turning back to the painting, “Don’t think I have a type, really.”

“We all have types,” Liam scoffs.

“So what’s yours, then?” Zayn smirks and turns around to face him, “The small, mouthy and twatty sort?” When Liam blushes, Zayn continues, “You should talk to him about it.”

“I don’t know.” Liam shakes his head. “It’s not that easy.” He looks back at Zayn, “It’s just not that easy,” he repeats.

“Suit yourself then. Can’t force you to do it, can I?” Zayn turns back to the painting, eyeing it critically, “But I really think you should.”

“So is he your type?” Liam repeats the question, nodding towards the painting.

“I don’t know.” Zayn is frowning again, “He’s not even real, Li. I’ve never even seen this man.” Liam hums from behind him and they both fall silent.

~~~

1932

Zayn’s eyes slowly drift open, the world around him coming into a soft focus. He shifts slightly and touches his cold nose against Harry’s neck, just underneath his ear. Harry snuffles in his sleep, nose wrinkling in a small frown before his features smoothed out again, breathing still even and slow.

The room is small but comfortable, heavy drapes covering the windows, the dresser that Harry’s mom had given him when he moved from London to Manchester sits in the corner of the room across from the bed. The white quilted duvet that Zayn's mom had given him was pushed halfway down the bed, coming up to cover just above Harry’s hip.

Zayn nuzzles at Harry’s neck again, his foot is hanging off the bed just outside of the duvet so he pulls back under the covers, slides it so it’s tucked under Harry’s ankle.

“You’re an arsehole,” Harry mumbles, eyes still closed and voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning, love.” Zayn lifts his head and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder, eyes watching Harry’s face.

“Morning.” Harry’s eyes crack open, just an inch, but he’s already wearing a lazy half smile. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah. I did. You?” Zayn tilts his head down and kisses Harry’s shoulder gently, a soft press of lips against warm skin. Harry hums in affirmation as his eyes drift closed and he brings a hand up to scratch gently at Zayn’s scalp.

“Had a dream about you,” He says a few seconds later.

“Yeah?” Zayn bites gently at his shoulder before looking back up at Harry, “Was it a good one?”

Harry takes his time answering, slow enough that Zayn was about to give, figuring that he had gone back to sleep. “Do you believe in soulmates?” he asks finally, not answering Zayn’s question.

“I don’t know.” Zayn turns from laying on his stomach to lying on his side, snuggling in as close to Harry’s side as he can get. He rests his cheek on Harry’s shoulder and reaches over to finger at the small silver cross that is laying against Harry’s chest. “Like, are you asking if I think that we were destined to meet each other?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s hand drifts down so he can start tracing lazy circles at the nape of Zayn’s neck. “Do you think it’s possible that we knew each other in a past life?”

Zayn stays quiet, keeps his eyes on the cross as he thinks. “Do you believe in past lives?” He asks instead of giving Harry an actual answer.

“I don’t know. It seems absurd logically, but then I think about things that have happened and how familiar they feel and I just can’t imagine that it’s coincidental. I hear the Violin Sonata Number 3 and,” he pauses and closes his eyes again, fingers drumming a faint beat against the back of Zayn’s neck, almost like he’s playing the piece “I'm somewhere else.”

“Bach gets to me too.” Zayn smiles and raises his eyes to Harry’s face.

“Or I look at you.” Harry opens his eyes as he shifts so he can get a better look at Zayn. “The first time I saw you,” his smile grows at the memory, “The connection felt like it was instant. I felt like I already knew you and you had just walked into the room. When you looked over at me that first time…it was legitimately one of the most peaceful feelings I’ve ever known, and we hadn't even said one word to each other How could I not have known you in a past life?”

“I felt the same way.” Zayn lays his head back down and starts playing with the cross again, “You were just so bright. All chubby cheeks and bright eyes. That cheeky grin of yours. I don’t know how I ever had the courage to walk over and talk to you.”

“I would’ve gone to you, if you hadn't come to me first.” Harry’s hand finds it’s way back into Zayn’s hair, “I wouldn’t have let you slip away.”

Zayn lifts his head and looks down at Harry, hand resting on his chest. “I think that I do believe in soulmates,” he says finally. “I definitely think that you are my soulmate.” Harry’s smile grows and his hand drops, brushing Zayn’s check and coming to rest against the side of his neck.

“Someday we won’t have to hide this.” He says it so quietly that it’s almost a whisper. Zayn doesn’t have a reply so he leans down to place a gentle kiss against Harry’s lips.

2015

It’s Halloween and the snow has briefly turned to frozen rain. The world outside their flat has turned into a slushy frozen mess that none of them have any idea of how to deal with so they forego the plan to going to any Halloween parties and have opted to marathon the Nightmare Before Christmas movies.

Liam is slouched on one of their old brown chairs, feet kicked up on the coffee table, beer sitting beside the chair, forgotten. Zayn’s stretched out on the couch, one arm under his head, his other hand carding through Louis’ hair. Louis is sitting in front of the couch, legs tucked under him, head tipped slightly back to give Zayn better access to his hair.

“So hey,” Louis asks quietly, eyes still on the TV screen “You still having those weird dreams? The ones with the bloke?”

“I’ve had a few.” Zayn doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, just shifts slightly and rakes his hand through Louis’ hair. “Still can’t remember them. Why?”

“Just wondering. You look tired lately. You’ve been spacing out more. Are they keeping you from sleeping?”

“Nah.” Zayn shakes his head, “They aren’t bad Louis. I can’t even remember them. It’s just this project is stressing me out. You know how it is. It’s massive”

“Just don’t over do it, okay?” Louis tips his head back so he can look at Zayn, “You worry me when you do this whole holing yourself up thing. I won’t let you play the starving artist game. And neither will Liam. You need to sleep more, you need to eat better, and you need to try harder to remember these dreams so that you can tell me about them. What good are they if I can’t mock ya for them?”

Zayn scoffs and looks over to where Liam is watching them.

“You worry us sometimes, mate.” Liam comments softly, jumping into the conversation, “None of us have left the flat in three days and yet we’ve hardly seen you.”

“Just painting guys.” Zayn looks back at the TV. “You both know how it is.”

“Just letting you know that we aren’t going to stand for you being all reclusive again,” Louis casts a glance at Liam before turning back to the movie.

Zayn leans forward, presses a sloppy wet kiss to the back of Louis’ neck. “Aww I’m so loved,” he cackles as Louis let’s out a loud yelp and turns around to glare at him, wiping at the back of his neck with his hand.

“You’re such a twat,” he mutters and moves across the floor so that he is sitting by Liam’s chair, sighing contentedly as Liam reaches down to gently massage his shoulders.

1756

Harry is standing on stage, left hand gripping his bow, right hand wrapped tightly around the neck of his violin. His suit is pristine, hair tied back in a tight, neat bun. He’s older now, no chubbiness to his cheeks, his body long and slender.

His eyes are searching the crowd and Zayn moves down the aisle faster until he is in standing in front of the stage. Harry’s eyes finally find him and he smiles slightly, dimples just barely making an appearance. Zayn tilts his head in a silent question and Harry gives him a small nod before he turns around to walk to his seat. Harry sits and adjusts the music stand before gently setting his bow in the open case next to the stand and adjusting his bow tie.

“He’s been so nervous.” Zayn jumps at the sound of the voice next to him and pivots slowly, turning to face Anne. She is dressed immaculately, black dress flowing lavishly to her feet, hair styled perfectly.

“He’s going to be fine,” he says with a small smile, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers. “Don’t know why he gets himself worked up like this.”

“It’s a big deal.” She says, her own hands clasped in front of her. “He’s been working on this solo for almost a year now.”

“And he can play it in his sleep. I’ve been telling him not to worry about it. He’s got this down.”

“We know this. And he knows it too. But can you imagine what it’s like to be up there? You know what it’s like when you have to show your work. You know your craft Zayn, you know you’re good. Even when you have shows,though, you still get nervous.”

Zayn hums in agreement and looks to where Harry is staring at the sheet of music in front of him, finger tapping the beat against his thigh.

“Let’s find our seats. Come on,” Anne beckons, arm out expectantly. Zayn takes it and leads her towards the center of the theater.

“Gem already here?” He asks and Anne nods, eyes searching for her daughter.

“We should be in the second row,” she says distractedly, and then her face lights up and she pulls gently on Zayn’s arm “There she is.”

Zayn smiles as Harry’s sister comes into view. She’s dressed just as immaculately as her mother and brother, blonde hair pulled up out of her face, her dress a dark blue. She smiles as they approach her and motions to the seats right behind her. Zayn releases Anne’s arm and watches as the two hug tightly before he pulls Gemma into a hug.

“How’ve you been?” She whispers into his ear, “It’s been too long. You keeping him out of trouble?”

“Of course,” he scoffs with a smirk, pulling back to meet her eye. “Not an easy task, though.”

“Never was,” she tsks with a shake of her head, eyes gleaming. “Spoiled brat that he is.”

“Insanely spoiled.” Zayn casts another glance over his shoulder and finds Harry watching them, a small smile on his face. He cocks an eyebrow and when Zayn smiles back, his smile gets wider, dimples out in full force.

“Think he may like you.” Gemma bumps her shoulder against Zayn’s arm, “You may want to watch out. His intentions may not be completely pure.”

“Do we really want to go there?” He turns back to her with a smirk “Because--”

“No.” She cuts him off firmly. “We will not go there. That is my baby brother, mister. We most definitely will not go there.” They both turn and he follows her to where Anne is now sitting and take their seats. Gemma leans over right away, “But really, how are you guys doing?”

“Great.” Zayn keep his eyes trained on Harry, watching as he greases his bow and then fiddles with his bowtie again. “Ready for him to not be stressed about this, if I’m being completely honest. But yeah. The house is finally set up. You need to come by while you’re here.”

“No one’s bothered you guys?” She’s whispering, leaning in closer to him.

“Not yet.” He frowns, “It’s fairly secluded, which we wanted. Closest neighbor is actually a few miles away. Lots of trees and things. Hopefully no one will notice that it’s two blokes living together,” he pauses, “We’ll be fine. I just hate being so far away from town. But if that’s what it takes.”

“Harry loves it,” she says softly. She is watching Harry now, too. He’s back to studying the music, lips moving ever so slightly. “Says he wants to get a bunch of chickens and stuff.”

“Already got some,” Zayn shakes his head and laughs. “Just two, for now. Until he’s finished with this, at least. Once he’s done, he wants to takes a break and get more chickens, wants a goat too. We’ve already got two house cats.” He shakes his head again, “Got a garden going already. I’m in love with a crazy man.”

“You knew he was crazy before you even tried to seduce him,” she clicks her tongue, “You knew what you were getting into”

“I did,” Zayn agrees, “does that make me the crazy one, then?”

“I think you’re both quite mad if I’m being completely honest,” Gemma laughs.

“I think it probably runs in the family, if I’m being completely honest.” His voice raises a slight pitch higher and he smirks as she lightly smacks his arm,

“Hey!” Anne turns to him, “Don’t drag me into this.” She shakes her head, smiling slowly as she says it. Zayn loves this family, he really does. The conductor steps out a few seconds later and they all fall silent, turning to the stage as the musicians take their places.

~

“What’d you think?” Harry whispers, nervous smile and bright green eyes.

“Babe, you were brilliant. Of course. Of course you were brilliant. You are brilliant.” Zayn reaches out and grasps shoulders in both hands, “You are so bloody brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Harry ducks his head shyly and looks down at his feet. “I thought it was pretty good too. I messed up a bit in the middle, but I don't think anyone noticed?”

“You were perfect.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulders, one hand drifting down to straighten the cross necklace around Harry’s neck before dropping his hands, eyes still trained on his boyfriend. “Seriously, Haz. You did Bach proud.”

“Thanks.” Harry is blushing when he finally looks up at him and the smile he gives Zayn is so bright that it leaves Zayn speechless. “I’m really glad you’re here tonight.”

“Where else would I be?” They are still whispering, all too aware of the people around them but it doesn’t stop them both from smiling so dumbly at each other, so stupidly in love that they are willing to risk living on a farm in the middle of nowhere with each other even at a time when their love is punishable by death.

And it’s with that thought that Zayn takes a step back, his smile fading just a bit. He watches as Harry’s face dims as well. Harry casts a quick glimpse around them, but no one has noticed them so he looks back at Zayn and gives a curt nod. “I’m going to go socialize, but we’ll find each other after?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods and Harry gives him one last look before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

~~

2015

“So, I slept with Liam last night,” Louis throws it out casually just as Zayn is taking a sip of coffee. There’s a bit of sputtering on Zayn’s part but only a mild amount of surprise. It's mid-November and the snow has finally let up so Louis had dragged Zayn out to the campus coffee shop. They were currently sharing one of the larger couches both had books sprawled out around them in an attempt to revise for their finals that were only a few weeks away.

“‘Bout time,” Zayn mumbles when he recovers, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis is looking down at the English book in his lap, hands fiddling with the highlighter.

“You guys okay?” Zayn closes his own book and stretches his arm out alongside the back of the couch, arm barely brushing Louis’ shoulders. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Louis cocks his head but keeps his eyes down. His hair is down today and the fringe shifts so it’s just covering up his eyes “We need to talk. We didn't before just kind of went at it.” Zayn laughs and shifts again. “Don’t laugh you wanker, it’s serious.” Louis looks up at him, “He got in bed with me and just started kissing me straight away. Next thing next and we’re fucking. Didn’t feel right to bring it up after.”

“He’s at his today though, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks back down and pulls the cap off of the highlighter before snapping it back on. He does it a few more times before continuing, “We’re both so busy with revisions and such, I don’t know if it’s something I want to talk about before finals. It’s just too much right now, you know?”

“It’s not going to bother you not knowing? For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you have anything to worry about." Zayn leans forward and grabs his mug off of the table. He keeps his eyes on Louis as he takes a sip, “He seems well into you.”

“Is it worth risking our friendship, though?” Louis takes the cap off of the highlighter again and starts coloring in the corner of his textbook “Like, we’ve gotten really close these past few weeks. He’s pretty important to me at this point.”

“Talk to him,” Zayn urges quietly, leaning in closer. “Just talk to him Louis. Decide together if it’s something you want to try out.”

“Oi, Tommo!”

Zayn jumps back as a flash of blonde hair and plaid passes in front of him and almost lands in Louis’ lap.

“Hey mate!”

“Nialler!” Louis is laughing as he pushes the other man off of him. Niall, who Zayn vaguely recognizes, lands laughing in-between them. “Zayn, you remember Niall? We’ve been to a few of his bashes.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember.” Zayn says as he slides over just a bit, giving Niall more space. “Science major, right?” He pulls his arms back and crosses them over his chest.

“Yeah.” Niall is still grinning, all sunshine and happiness as he takes in the rest of the coffee shop’s crowd. “Just taking a break from revising. Thought I’d get out of my damned apartment and get some fresh air. Pick up some coffee for me and the flatmates.”

“This weather sucks, doesn’t it?” Louis looks towards the big windows.

“Hate being inside all of the time.” Niall nods in agreement and follows Louis’ gaze to the snow covered world outside.

The coffeehouse is comfortable, all dark woods and big sofas, a large bar with three early twenty-somethings looking bored but friendly enough, the smell of roasting coffee heavy in the air. A small case displaying pastries breaks up the register from the bar where they set the finished drinks. The crowd is still pretty light, most students opting to stay home to revise as opposed to trudging through the snow and back.

“Took me forty-five minutes to drag this one away from his paints. We’ve literally been stuck in that place to four days.” Louis shakes his head, “ I had to beg him to come with me.”

“Shows in two weeks right?” Niall looks over at Zayn, “Mate of mine is showing too. Not a major but still in the photography department. Been stressing over it.”

“He a junior?” Zayn asks and shifts again, fights off shivers as someone else enters the coffeehouse, bringing the cold air in with them.

“Sophomore. He’s got Frankle, I think? Who, apparently, is a complete arsehole.”

“He is,” Zayn confirms, “Never had him myself, only had to take two photography classes since I’m concentrating in painting. But, he is.”

Niall nods. “Well, we’re having a party after the show, if you’re interested. Our other mate Ed will be finishing up at the music showcase the weekend before and most of us will be finishing up finals around the same time, so.”

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” Zayn bends down and starts to shove his books into his messenger bag, “Startin’ to look rough out there again, we should probably be heading back.” he says, looking over at Louis.

“Yeah, they’ll probably be bitchin’ at me for taking so long,” Niall chuckles. “Good seeing you lads, think about that party, yeah?” He looks over at Zayn before turning to Louis, “Tommo, you too.”

“Already there mate. I’ll get him there too.” He motions with a flick of his wriest towards Zayn and starts gathering his own stuff up. Niall stands up and gives them one final wave before heading towards the bar, calling out a few more hellos to other random people he seems to know as he goes.

~~~

1861

“Took you long enough” Zayn jolts, stopping in his tracks but not turning around at the unexpected voice behind him. It’s been six months since he last saw Harry. It was right before Harry had gone back to London for the last year of his undergraduate studies, and Zayn had come back to the cramped dormitories at Cambridge. He had managed to snag a single this year. Saying he was eternally grateful to the powers that be for it would be an understatement of how he felt not having to share with anyone right now.

Especially in this moment.

Because when he turned around it was to Harry. Harry standing a few feet away from him. He’s leaning against a tree, hair still long and pulled back away from his face, eyes wide and green. His black pea coat is wrapped tightly around him ending just below his knees, right above where his long black boots start. He looks immaculate, hands covered in black leather gloves and a black scarf pulled around his neck.

“Your finals?” Zayn manages to choke out finally, one hand gripping his satchel closer to him, the other buried in his own grey pea coat. His boots were older, scarf a little rattier but it was something Harry had given to him their first Christmas apart four years ago, the boots from his parents that same year. He hadn’t made it home, that year, but Harry had come to campus for a day, three days after Christmas and had brought both packages with him. They had drank the free cocoa that the campus cafeteria had offered the students who stayed behind, and spent most of the rest of it in the tiny twin bed in the cramped dorm room that Zayn shared with another bloke.

“Finished yesterday.” Harry pushes away from the tree and walks until there are only a few feet between them. He reaches out and brushes a few stray pieces of snow off of Zayn’s shoulder, opting to watch his hand rather than look at Zayn. “Passed with flying colors, I did.” His grin is wide and infectious, “Only one more semester.” He looks up at Zayn, meets his eyes. “We’ve only got one more semester.”

“Twenty-two weeks.” Zayn says. He’s not even going to pretend that he’s not counting it down; that he doesn’t know exactly how long it is until they both graduate, that the snippets of their conversation outside of the opera all of those years ago still fresh in his mind. Then he can head to London, to the spacious flat that Harry is sharing with one other bloke; some blonde guy that Zayn’s met in passing the few times he’s made it to London.

“We’ve almost made it, Zayn.” Harry’s voice is deep and quiet, the only thing giving away his excitement is him bouncing on his toes.

“Thought you’d go home straight away,” Zayn nods towards the dorms and turns, taking a few steps before stopping to wait for Harry to catch up.

“Parents think that I’m out in two days. Didn’t correct them.” He looks up at the grey sky. It had snowed a few days before; not much but just enough that the ground was still coated in a light blanket of white. As far as Zayn knew, they weren’t expecting any more until the weekend.

“I’ve got to revise tonight, I’ve got exams tomorrow,” Zayn comments. Their arms are brushing with every step and he adjusts his satchel over his shoulder so he can shove his free hand into his pocket, avoiding giving in to the temptation of grabbing Harry’s hand. They walk quietly for a few more minutes before Harry buries his own hands in his pockets. “My family is expecting me at home by Friday evening.”

“I’ll help you revise. What time are your exams?”

“Nine and one. I just finished the English final. ’s why I was running late. I had my mathematics exam this morning.”

“How’d you do?” Harry glances over at him, his green eyes wide.

“Fine. Struggled with it a bit, but I’m sure I passed.” Zayn shrugs, not taking his eyes off of Harry. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he says, finally bumping his elbow into Harry’s. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I miss you. More than I thought it would.” Harry stops and turns back towards Zayn, “And for some reason it’s getting harder the closer we get. I want you in London now. I’m tired of being so far away from you.”

“We’re almost there, love.” Zayn steps closer, keeps his voice low. There’s no one around but he still glances behind him “Haz, we are literally a few months away.”

“I know.” Harry’s eyes slip down to where Zayn is licking his lips and then back up to meet his eyes, “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

Zayn glances around again before shaking his head. “Come on, then.” He steps back, eyes still focused on Harry. “Where’s your bag?”

“Outside your door. Went to your room first, figured nobody would mess with it.”

Zayn nods and quickens his pace. It only takes Harry a few steps to catch up, his longer legs making it easy. Harry bumps into Zayn, shoulder colliding gently with his back as he catches up, a mischievous grin breaking across his face when Zayn looks back at him. Zayn shakes his head, his own grin wide and bright as they make their way quickly across the campus.

~~

2015

The last dream had been a little over a week ago. Zayn sits on his bed staring at the drawing he’s chosen to be the center of his exhibit, trying to decide what finishing touches he needs to make. The images were never very clear as it had been in the last dream. Usually he was faded snippets of too short dreams, fuzzy ideas of a beautiful boy fading quickly as Zayn woke up.

But here he was, staring at a drawing he recreated from those snippets and fuzzy ideas of that very boy. He is facing away from the viewer, looking over his shoulder, only half of his face visible, his jawline drawn strong, curls hanging down to his shoulders. Zayn used minimal colors on the piece, relying more on the grey and black of charcoal and lead than the chalk acrylic he had used for the chocolate brown of the curls. Harry appeared to be leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. Zayn gave it a final look before standing up and heading to the kitchen. He was finally finished.

~~

The turnout is good considering that it had started snowing again an hour before the showcase started, students and faculty mingling as they walk around the small gallery on campus, sounds of Bach coming from the speakers they had set up. Louis and Liam had disappeared almost immediately when they arrived alongside Zayn both grinning widely, hand in hand.

Zayn had made his rounds when he first came in. He stopped by Perrie’s exhibit and a few other of his classmates before ducking out of a conversation he had been roped into and finding his way over to the table where finger foods were setup along with glasses of wine and water.

The artists themselves were all dressed up, Zayn included. He wore all black, his suit jacket tailored nicely to fit his small frame perfectly, black shirt buttoned up to the last two buttons, which he had left open. Black trousers and black shoes topped off with a light grey silk scarf. He surveys the crowd, taking a lazy sip of white wine.

“Malik!” Niall’s loud voice makes him jump and he just narrowly avoids spilling the wine on himself. He turns around to find the Irish man grinning widely at him. He stays completely still as Niall leans in and quickly gives him a hug. “You coming later? You’d better be coming later. Louis said you were.”

“I’ll stop by.” Zayn smiles and takes a step back. He lifts his glass and takes another sip, his eyes still on Niall.

Niall smiles and reaches over to grab a glass off the table, “So where’s your stuff? I’ve been over in the photography section,” he gestures a wild hand towards the section behind them “for my mate. Louis said you smashed it.”

“I did alright.” Zayn admits shyly and starts walking towards the section that had been reserved for juniors. “Got five pieces in. That’s my friend Perrie’s stuff,” he nods as they pass her section.

She’s standing in front of one of her paintings and gives a small wave in Zayn direction as they pass her. They never did hang out after she had invited him out those couple of weeks ago, and the few times that they had seen each other since, neither of them mentioned it.

“And my friend Ant,” Zayn points at another one of the exhibits. Niall is nodding as they pass each one, quickly taking in each show before glancing around the room. “And here I am.” Zayn stops in front of the space and takes in his work proudly. The drawing of the green eyed boy with dark curls is in the center, a smaller drawing of Louis to the right of it and another drawing of one of the stray cats that sometimes hangs out on their fire escape beside that one. On the other side a colorful abstract sits in-between the main drawing and a canvas that Zayn had spray painted in a bright splash of color.

“That’s really good.” Niall has stepped closer to the drawing and is studying it closely, “really good Zayn. It looks,” he pauses and tilts his head, “It almost looks like me mate. You know Harry?” He looks over at Zayn.

Zayn startles, head snapping up and eyes wide as he meets Niall’s eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“It looks like my mate Harry, kinda.” He looks back at the drawing, “He’s the photography student I was telling you about. The one that is showing here tonight. You know him?”

“No.” Zayn is flustered, blushing he takes another drink of his wine, “I don’t know him.”

“Huh,” Niall is still studying the drawing, “It looks so much like him.” He shakes his head and turns back to Zayn. “So weird. Maybe you just didn’t know his name?”

“I’ve never met this person before.” Zayn motions to the drawing with the hand holding the glass of wine, “I don’t know where the idea to draw him came from. I just knew I had to,” he cuts himself off by taking another sip of wine.

“Come on.” Niall reaches out and grabs Zayn’s arm in his free hand and leads him towards to the photography section, “You’re gonna shit bricks, man.” His voice has gone from confused to more amused, and he chances a grin back at Zayn.

Zayn frowns and tries to take another drink of his wine, not ready for this. This cannot be happening. Niall must be mistaken about comparing his friend to Zayn’s work--the guy he painted doesn’t actually exist, he’s just a figment of Zayn’s imagination.

“Haz. Harry Styles,” Niall is shouting across the room, people looking up as he leads the way towards the corner of the room.

Suddenly Zayn is trying to dig his heels into the ground, cursing the slipperiness of the dress shoes he’s wearing because he can’t get the traction he needs to pull out of Niall’s tight grip. It feels like someone has pressed pause, like time has completely stopped for a few seconds and he just needs a moment to breath. Only he can’t because his breath is caught in his throat. Just as quickly as it felt like the world had stopped, it suddenly feels like the world is spinning faster, too fast, trying to regain that brief amount time it had lost.

Because there he is.

His hair is shorter than it was in any of the dreams, it’s still long though, curls sticking out wildly. He’s taller than he appeared to be in Zayn’s mind, all long legs in tight skinny jeans, a black jacket over a shirt that is only buttoned half way up, a tiny silver cross necklace laying flat against his chest, long black boots more worn than they probably should be for an artist presenting at the show. He smiles as they approach, eyes quickly sweeping down Zayn’s body before back up to meet his eyes. It’s the same wide, goofy but genuine smile, from the dreams, the same dimples, the same excited green eyes.

“Haz, this is Zayn. He drew you!” Niall is talking loudly, something he tends to do, and Harry is still grinning widely at Zayn, extending his hand

“I didn’t draw…I didn’t draw him.” Zayn glares at Niall before turning back to shake Harry’s hand. Somewhere very close to them Louis is cackling and there’s no doubt that he has heard Niall and is probably putting all of the pieces together. Zayn would turn to look because he can only imagine the look on Liam’s face, a mixture of worried amusement as he realizes what is happening. That it’s true, it does look like Zayn drew Harry. This Harry. The Harry that is standing in front of him.

“Hello, Zayn without a surname.” Harry’s voice is the same slow drip as from his dreams and this seems so impossible. There is no way that Zayn has ever seen this man in this lifetime before, he would remember him. He would’ve talked to him because he may be shy at times, but Zayn knows he can get what he wants. He would’ve wanted Harry. “I’m Harry Styles.” He sounds so damn amused that it’s borderline annoying and Zayn would be annoyed if he wasn’t so confused by the entire procession of events. “You drew me?”

“Not you, not really.” Zayn shakes his head. He’s staring at a picture behind Harry instead of meeting his eyes His cheeks and the back of his neck burn from the blush that he knows is taking over. The picture is a black and white of what appears to be black and white cat.

“ ’s my cat Dusty.” Harry comments, following Zayn’s gaze, “He lives with my mum.” Zayn nods and looks at a few of the other shots. Harry’s pretty good, mostly black and white shots of places around London, a few that Zayn recognizes, some that he doesn’t. A few more of a town that seems far smaller than London; a tiny bakery and an older house. Zayn steps around Harry and closer to the pictures.

“That’s the bakery I used to work at,” Harry has walked up behind him and points at the pictures. “That’s my mum’s house.”

“Couldn’t get Dusty in the window?” Zayn grins over his shoulder before turning back to study more of the photographs. “Could’ve been very Americana circa 1950s if you would’ve.”

“Try as I might, I’m no Norman Rockwell.” Harry sighs dramatically behind him and Zayn turns back around to face him. Harry is still grinning down at him as he raises his glass and takes a sip of wine. “So you drew me?”

“Not you,” Zayn repeats the same thing from earlier. He shakes his head again and looks away “It may resemble you a bit, but I don’t know you, and I’ve never seen you before so…”

“Can I see it? Judge for myself?” He looks more serious when Zayn finally looks back at him.

“Sure” Zayn’’s answer is quiet, almost shy and hestarts back towards his own exhibit Harry following. “Your stuff is really good. You’re not a photography major?” Zayn asks after a brief silence. Harry shakes his head, knocking a few curls loose so they fall over his forehead.

“Minoring in photography. I’m actually a music major. I sing.” His voice is just raspy and low enough that Zayn can picture it.

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime. Bet you have a good voice.” Zayn grins and Harry turns to him with a smirk.

“I have an amazing voice. And you want to be careful inviting yourself to my shows because I’ll start expecting to see you there. Need all the support I can get, don’t I?”

“I bet you have plenty of support.” Zayn stops by the refreshment table and sets his now empty glass on the table before grabbing a fresh drink. He watches as Harry downs the rest of his, throat working as he swallows, and does the same. They start walking again and Harry takes a sip of his fresh drink, “Those dimples alone,” Zayn continues,“They’ll get all the girls”

“But they won’t get the record contracts.” Harry looks back over at him, “And maybe it’s not the girls that I’m trying to get.” Zayn blushes again as he looks away, glancing around the room that is slowly starting to empty.

“This is me,” he says quietly as they approach his set up.

“Zayn Malik.” Harry quietly reads the name plate before looking slowly down the line of paintings, pausing over each one. He takes in the drawing, of him, but remains silent. “You’re really, really talented” He says after a few agonizing minutes of silence. “Seriously, Zayn. Wow.

Zayn is blushing again and he takes a sip of wine to give himself a few seconds before offering a quiet, “Thank you,” to Harry.

“The drawing…it’s really good. Your paintings are incredible. But the drawing,” Harry shakes his head and goes to stand in front of it again, “The detail is amazing.”

“Drawing is what I started out with,” Zayn offers up, finally stepping closer to Harry. “When I was younger. Couldn’t very well carry my paints with me everywhere. I was always getting in trouble for drawing in school, not paying enough attention to the teacher.” Harry makes an amused noise so Zayn continues, “My mum started getting me more involved in painting when I was 14, signing me up for classes during the weekends and in the evenings. Me dad isn’t too pleased that I’m trying to take a hobby up as a profession.” He uses air quotes around the last part and drops his voice when he talks about his dad.

“My dad hates that I’m studying music.” Harry turns on his heels to look at Zayn, “My stepdad and my mum are really supportive. So is my sister, Gemma. I was always a bit closer to them than my real dad anyways. Not that I don’t love him! Just not as close to him as I am to the rest of them.” Harry stops himself and let’s out a loud, nervous laugh, “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

Zayn grins and he’s already much more endeared to Harry than he should be. “It’s okay,” he says finally, looking up to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I’m just,” he looks back over his shoulder at the drawing, “Have we met before? Because I feel like I know you. And,” he motions towards the drawing, “Do I know you?” He turns back to Zayn, and he’s frowning, a crease between his eyes

“I don’t think so?” It comes out more of a question than anything “I just. I don’t know where this came from.” Zayn motions towards the canvas, “I really don’t.” He pauses and shakes his head. It doesn’t feel right telling anyone about the dreams. He has never seen this Harry before, and he’s not sure why he popped up in his dreams in the first place. Maybe they can figure it out later but, for now, maybe for now, he can just get to know this beautiful man in front of him instead of trying to explain that he was dreaming about him.

“I think that I would remember you, if we had met before. I’m fairly sure I would remember you.” The smile Harry offers Zayn is cheeky and he blushes slightly, “You feel so familiar. I swear I know you.”

“Maybe.” Zayn closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, Harry is staring at his lips.

“Maybe?” Harry prompts finally, eyes still glued to Zayn’s lips

“I don’t know, Harry. Maybe we’ve passed each other in the halls or something?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, “That would be different. It would be more of a visual recognition. This feels like more. Maybe we knew each other in a past life?” He jokes and looks up to meet Zayn’s gaze, “But honestly, this is much different. All I can think is that I need to get to know you better.”

Zayn laughs at that, surprised at the bluntness of it. “You going to Niall’s thing?” he asks, glancing around the nearly empty room.

“It’s at my flat, so yeah.” Harry glances around the room before his eyes fall back on Zayn. He takes a final sip of his wine before setting the glass down on a bench and then gently takes the glass that Zayn is holding as well and sets it down. “He’s my flatmate.”

“Ah.” Zayn hums and starts to follow Harry towards the door, “Wanna ride over together?”

“It’s like, five blocks from here.” Harry shakes his head, “We can walk there quicker than we can hail a cab.” Zayn follows him out, pulling out his cellphone to shoot a quick text to Louis so he knows that he’s leaving.

It has started snowing again, but it’s light enough to not bother Zayn too much. They walk in silence for the first few blocks before Harry chuckles, “Niall is going to kill me for not being there early enough to help him set up.”

“Think he had Louis and Liam with him.” Zayn replies as he checks his messages, “Didn’t see them there as we left and Louis hasn’t replied to me letting him know I was leaving. He would’ve had us wait for him if he hadn’t left already”

“So Louis is your…” Harry trails off and glances at Zayn out of the corner of his eye. He reaches up and pops his collar so that it offers more protection from the snow.

“Flatmate. Best friend.” Zayn shrugs again and looks away, glancing at the Christmas display in the front window of the shop that they’re passing.

“No boyfriend then?” Harry looks away. He’s still grinning, but it’s shy this time, “Or girlfriend, I guess?”

“Nope.” Zayn pops the p and then cringes at it. “You?”

“Nah, no boyfriend.” Harry looks back over at him, “Did the whole single, party hopping thing at the beginning of the semester but it’s gotten old.” He looks down, buries his hands in his jacket pockets, “Did it most of last year too.”

“Been there.” Zayn sighs, remembering his freshman and sophomore year well. “Still like to go out but not as much as I used to. Louis is still pretty into it.”

Harry scoffs, “You know Niall. He thinks I’ve lost my mind because I don’t want to go out every weekend.” Harry picks up his pace and turns so he is facing Zayn, walking backwards. “So can I ask you something? Because I need to know if I’m reading into this right, and I don’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Sure.” Zayn nods and offers a small, encouraging smile.

“Are you gay?” He shakes his head and turns back so he is facing forward, walking beside Zayn again, “I hate asking people that”

“Why?” Zayn looks over at him curiously.

“Because it’s yours to tell, and if you wanted me to know you’d tell me. But I don’t want to…I need to know if this is headed more into friends territory so I don’t make a move on you if it’d make you uncomfortable.”

“It wouldn’t make me uncomfortable.” Zayn pulls his hand out of his pocket and reaches over to brush Harry’s arm with it, “Not at all.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and smiles, turning to Zayn with wide eyes. “Good. Because you’re really pretty and wildly talented and if you wouldn’t mind it, maybe I could take you to dinner sometime? And maybe to the pub where I do open mic afterwards.”

“I would like that,” Zayn confirms. He smiles as Harry pulls his hand out of his pocket and reaches out to tentatively take Zayn’s hand in his, walking the last few blocks to Harry’s flat.

~~

The thing about Niall’s parties are that everyone always ends up completely wasted. It’s two hours later and Zayn’s world is spinning, so he’s leaning against a wall in the living room watching the crowd move around him. Louis is sitting on Liam’s lap, all but straddling him, making out. He hasn’t seen Niall in about thirty minutes and that may have something to do with Barbara, who Niall had drunkenly introduced him to an hour earlier. He knows Harry is in the kitchen, animatedly talking to a group of people, all of them captivated by whatever he says, even if he talks a little too slowly and his stories go on forever.

Or that’s where he had been the last time Zayn had seen him at least. Now, suddenly, he’s leaning his shoulder against the wall next to Zayn, hugging a near empty glass to his chest.

“So, hey.” He’s slurring slightly, gaze a little uneven when Zayn looks up at him. “I was thinking. It’s snowing harder,” he motions to the large window that’s a few feet away from Zayn, “And Lou says you guys live on the other side of campus which is just too far.” He pauses and sways a bit.

Zayn reaches up to steady him, but he’s not much better and teeters a bit himself before managing to straighten himself, hand still firmly gripping Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s too far,” Harry continues, “And Lou and Liam are already crashing in Ed’s room ‘cause he’s already left for the term. So you should stay with me”

Zayn raises an amused eyebrow.

“In my room.” Harry nods sagely and goes to take a drink from his glass, frowning when he realizes how empty it is. He looks up at Zayn, the question written clearly on his face.

“Yeah. Okay. But maybe I should take the sofa?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head and Zayn bites back a laugh at how serious Harry looks, “You should stay in my room.”

“Okay, then.” Zayn reaches up and takes the glass from Harry’s grip. “ If it’s getting worse you should probably start sending people home.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks around the room and frowns but doesn’t move. So Zayn does instead, walking over to Liam to tap him on the shoulder.

“What?” Louis is the one who snaps, pulling back from Liam, eyes flying up to meet Zayn’s.

“We need to end this.” Zayn motions around the room and then leans down to talk into Louis’ ear, “Don’t know where Niall is and Harry is,” he pauses and looks over his shoulder but he’s nowhere to be found now, “Harry’s gone too. The snow is starting to pick up out there and these people need to get home.”

Louis sighs loudly but agreeably. He crawls out of the chair. Zayn leaves him and Liam to it, because they are both loud and authoritative enough to take care of it, and he heads towards the back of the flat, where the bedrooms are. He finds Harry in his room, laying shirtless across his bed, pants half undone. Zayn grins and closes the door softly behind him.

“You okay there sparky?” He calls out, slipping out of his jacket. He’d already lost his shoes some time shortly after they’d arrived at the flat. He reaches down to start unbuttoning his shirt, looking up just as Harry sits up, watching him.

“Come here”, Harry says quietly, “Lemme help you.”

“Think you can?” Zayn smirks and walks the short distance to the bed, coming to a stop in-between Harry’s open legs.

“You’d be surprised.” Harry glances up at him before focusing back at what he’s doing, throwing his full concentration into getting Zayn’s shirt undone, bottom lip between his teeth as he does.

It’s later, much later, when Harry is rocking into him for the second time, that Zayn starts thinking of how much like home Harry feels already; how comfortable he is around with him, how comfortable they are with each other. Harry bites his shoulder gently, nuzzles the back of his neck before gently kissing the nape, his breath coming out in warm, damp pants against Zayn’s skin.

Zayn adjusts himself so he can reach behind him, squeeze Harry’s hip and bows his head slightly, head resting against the mattress. Harry follows him down, buries his nose in Zayn’s hair before pulling back. He noses at Zayn’s ear, biting ever so lightly before moving back to Zayn’s shoulder and pressing his lips firmly against the skin there. It’s mumbled and low but there’s definitely a whispered, “Think I could fall in love with you,” from Harry and Zayn stops thinking then, just concentrates on what they are doing, loses himself in the moment.

Then, even later, when dull light is starting to peek through the thin white curtains in Harry’s room, Harry’s back to Zayn’s front, fluffy white duvet covering warding off the slight chill of the apartment, Zayn kisses Harry’s shoulder lightly and squeezes the hand that he is gripping in his own, crossed over Harry’s chest. His world is content as he listens to Harry’s even breathing, feels it against his own body.

He kisses Harry’s shoulder again and as quietly as he can, gives his whispered confession of, “Think I might have always loved you,” before closing his eyes and letting sleep take over.