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They'd never made the conscious choice to invite their fans to think they were gay. At least, Zayn couldn't remember ever signing anything that said otherwise. It wasn't something they were hugely uncomfortable talking about, at least it hadn't been at first, but now that it was coming up in each and every interview they did to some degree, they were beginning to form specific and different feelings on the matter. Out of necessity, if nothing else.
Louis is upset by it. He has a girlfriend that he loves, and if he'd had a boyfriend that he'd loves he'd be just as upset by the fact that he was having to constantly field questions on the issue of whether or not he was shagging his bandmate, be they male or female, so it wasn't the issue of sexuality that got to Louis but the fact that he couldn't act however he wanted without that being taken as a statement that he wasn't making.
Harry struggled with it, it seemed. He was the quickest to shut down when it came up, and Zayn gets that. He doesn't think Harry would have an issue with it if anyone in the band were gay, he knows for a fact that Harry has close friends who are and far more besides who are bi, but Harry is the ladykiller in the band. He's the one with the biggest reputation to at least allude to, and fending off suggestion that he's sleeping with Louis is more an issue of commitment than anything else, it seems. Harry talks about it almost as little as Zayn does, but after the first interview where the topic had been raised relatively seriously, Harry had sat smiling sadly in the van on the way back to their hotel and said that it was a nice idea. That it would be “pretty fucking lovely” to be in love with someone that he got to see every single day, and have them be in love with him in return. Most recently, though, he's changed his tune. These days the only times he speaks about it outside of interviews is to gripe about how the rumour gets in the way of his hook-ups now, and how the idea of him and Louis is one so ridiculous that he's sick of having to even entertain it. He's sick of what it means for Louis, Zayn suspects.
Niall probably gets the angriest about it, which Zayn understands considering his background, but also finds strange for the fact that Niall is the one who probably has to deal with the smallest portion of the awkward questions and rumors. Niall has somehow come to be uniquely talented at being absolutely all over the other four in ways that just don't raise eyebrows. Niall's behavior is maybe a bit more acceptable for how it rarely strays below the waist – confined to arms around shoulders instead of hands on bums, and falling asleep leaning against someone instead of tackling them to the ground and sitting astride their waist. Zayn doesn't know if those are deliberate measures on Niall's part, or lasting effects of having grown up in a small, very traditional town in Ireland, but Niall doesn't react to the suggestion that they're hiding something very well at all. It begins as indignation on behalf of his friends, and he's the first to defend them – the one quickest to lose his temper when someone he cares about is under attack even though Zayn's never seen him get hotheaded over anything else at all. Niall genuinely doesn't seem to understand the premise – even the suggestion that not only might some of them be gay, but in gay relationships with other members of the band. It's so alien an idea to Niall that the longer it goes on and the more they have to explain what he sees as the obvious, the more frustrated with the situation Niall becomes.
Liam and Louis were the first ones to really find out the extent of it, and they'd found it hilarious at first. They'd spent about a week straight looking up the strangest things on the internet, and Zayn hadn't wanted to know anything about it but he wished they could have stayed as entertained by the whole thing as they'd once been. The more difficult it made Louis' life, the less funny he found it, but Liam still seemed to be the only one of them genuinely interested in trying to understand it. He approached the topic with a kind of wide-eyed, earnest willingness to support every single one of their fans in everything they did, but now that things have taken on a sharp edge that actually hurts when it's overlaid with their real lives, Liam isn't so quick to defend or understand it. He tries to be diplomatic about it in interviews, but otherwise it's a non-issue for him.
They longer talk about it as a band, because it's become something that they relish every opportunity to not talk about.
And Zayn ... well, Zayn doesn't even think about it.
-
They've had a rough day of interviews, the fanfiction and manips and hashtags and 'Larry Stylinson' having come up in each and every single one, and this tour is coming to an end, so they're exhausted as it is.
Now would be the perfect time for the five of them to curl up on a sofa and collapse into the kind of exhausted, heaped group nap that only works because they're all exactly as tired as one another and tired for all the same reasons, worn down and raw in all the same ways.
But twice since they've arrived to the arena Zayn has watched Louis reach for Harry only to stop himself at the last second, his hand shaking, his face draining white and his expression shuttering shut. Zayn sees Harry noticing, too, and sees how Harry's paper-thin smile falls off his face. He watches Harry's shoulders rise and he wants to push them back down again, to gather Harry up in his arms and bring him to Louis, leave them together and sure beyond doubt that no-one in this room thinks that of them, that no-one would think less of them if it were true, but that they know it's not all the same.
Zayn settles for cupping the palm of his hand around the back of Liam's neck instead, and gratefully accepts the hip-check that Niall affords him as they trail off stage after soundcheck.
-
It's become an unspoken sort of agreement that they'll do whatever the fuck they want when they're onstage. It's probably not a great place to choose to showcase just how close they like to be, but it's something they can write off as generally expected in that sense, accepted for what whatever anyone watching wants to make of it without having to be something that they're declaring. It's almost as though their being touchy-feely with one another in front of thousands of people sends the message that it isn't real, because if it was then it would be happening behind closed doors, wouldn't it? And that's where they have to be careful, because it's the candids and the personal photos that provide the most damning 'evidence.'
The fact of the matter is that they're five young boys, traveling the world alone – with family and friends left behind and only one another to depend on for support and absolute understanding.
Of course they hug a lot. Of course they don't think twice about getting close and staying close, because that's all they have. That's home for them, when home is too far away to reach and the next best thing is right next to them, on either side.
-
So they go all out under bright lights and against the blinding flash of cameras. In front of their fans and to the soundtrack of their album remixed with delighted shrieks and heartfelt backing, they show the world how close they really are.
Night after night, they get to give everyone watching exactly what they want and get what they need at the same time.
They're best friends, and sometimes they're too tired or confused to say that out loud - so to be able to stand up there and say it with their smiles, with their hands and their voices tied up with words that aren't what they mean to say but say it anyway - that's their gift and their reward.
-
They're boneless with relief when they get off stage, hopped up on adrenaline and the sharp, wild pleasure of getting to go out there and forget about everything but doing what they love the way they love to do it.
Liam leads the way back to the dressing room, the other four racing ahead of him only to trip one another up and end up exactly where they started – following their fearless leader like they don't know the way there themselves. They've never talked about it, like so many of their habits and what have now become traditions it's all wordless agreement and natural inclination, but Liam likes to lead the way and they like to watch him in his element.
Zayn falls to the back of the line, chest heaving and his breath still catching on leftover little hiccups of laughter for Louis' last attempt to leap frog over him while Zayn ran ahead of him, and this is what makes every minute of every horrible interview absolutely and without a doubt worth it.
Zayn isn't thinking about interviews now, he's not thinking about anything but the way his happiness swells like a bubble inside his chest, bright and huge and shining. He's scrubbing a hand through his rank, sweaty hair and thinking about how he can't wait to get to shower, but would forgo first or second or even third go just to get to collapse onto the floor of their dressing room and laugh at whatever ridiculousness the others will cook up while they wait, and he's smiling softly at the tired ache in his bones, a pleased wince that he shows no-one but the floor as he watches his feet carry him along the corridor, wonders at the fact that they're able to at all.
Another pair of shoes skip into view, and they're the very same ones Zayn is wearing himself, but Zayn knows from how close they come and how easily they settle into step alongside his exactly whose they are.
Harry hooks an arm around Zayn's waist and leans in to press his face to the sweat-slick line of Zayn's throat. His breath is hot, his mouth too warm compared to the cool air, and the noise he hums against Zayn's skin is some small note of contentment.
The goosebumps that fan out after it turn into a shiver that rolls hot down Zayn's spine and curls low and heavy in Zayn's stomach.
Harry pulls away after far too many beats, but leaves his arm around Zayn and when Zayn helplessly lifts his head, Harry grins at him wide and pleased and imploring, like he came over to share this feeling with Zayn and Zayn alone and wants Zayn to know that – wants him to know that it means something.
It means something to Zayn, alright.
-
And that's why Zayn doesn't think about it.
-
Zayn was 13 when he'd looked at his best friend Danny and known he'd rather kiss him than any girl in the world.
He'd never really thought about kissing anyone before, it hadn't seemed like anything close to a pressing matter up to that point, but once that thought had occurred to Zayn he knew he had something to keep secret, something to hide.
By the time Zayn turned 16 he knew he was gay, but he's never said so out loud. Not even to himself. He's spent countless hours staring stricken at his own reflection in mirrors, trying to make his mouth shape the words, but they crumble and break before they find their way out and stay lodged in jagged, broken pieces that make it hard for him to swallow sometimes still.
On Zayn's 17th birthday he'd gotten drunk enough to reach that point where nothing mattered – that edge between invincibility and black-out drunk – and there he'd found the confidence and foolish disregard that brought him his first and only instance of self-acceptance and reckless pro-activity. It had broken Zayn's heart to find that the awkward, drunk-foolish fumble that he'd found in the single bed of someone whose name he hadn't cared to find out after they'd made eye contact during last orders could be everything he'd talked himself out of looking for – everything he'd worked so hard to believe wasn't out there for him.
Zayn had had girlfriends through his teens, a couple of long term things that weren't what he wanted but had been fulfilling in plenty of ways nonetheless. Having been brought up in such a predominantly female environment he gets on really well with girls, he's close to them in ways that other boys his age might not be able to be – honestly, and truly. The physical side of those relationships had always been tolerable, if lacking, but this ....
This was something else entirely. Giving his full weight over into the sweating, straining, male body underneath his had been like finding a home he'd forgotten existed. Re-discovering something that he'd never known.
It had been difficult enough to teach himself not to look for anything beyond what he was expected to seek, and so to find everything he'd long since talked himself out of wanting or needing right there under his hands, there for his hips and teeth and tongue and fingers to find in the dark and hold – that had brought Zayn's world crashing down across his shoulders.
Not that night. Not in the heat and sweat-slicked charge of the moment, but after.
The next morning too bright light had brought with it the mother of all headaches and a much deeper ache still – the kind of shame and fear that can only come from nowhere at all inside just one person because it's coming from every single other person in the world instead, at once.
His parents might understand, but they wouldn't be happy. His family at large ... Zayn can't even bring himself to think about their reactions – though there would be a range, not all awful. Younger generations would accept it and love him no matter what. He has cousins who he knows he could tell if he absolutely had to, if it got to be too much to keep in. But it's never got that far for him.
The very first realization had cut him to the bone and taken his knees out from underneath him. Every subsequent moment in which he's reminded of the truth is a painful echo of that, almost as much but slightly less for how he's learned to live like that, right there on his knees with shame and desperation flooding cold through his veins.
Zayn doesn't think there's anything wrong with him, his upbringing was one that encouraged questions and acceptance even if it did so from inside some very isolated and traditional points of view, but it's not himself he's afraid of.
Before X Factor there wasn't a single person in the world that Zayn had wanted to tell.
And now there's four.
One that makes it all a bit more complicated than simple 'want'.
-
Perrie's a great girl.
She's bright and funny and gorgeous and talented, and she understands parts of Zayn's life that few others ever could. She's successful in her own right and they hardly ever get to see one another, and she's a great, great friend but sometimes Zayn thinks he's fooling no-one. He gave up on trying to fool himself years ago now, and he's okay with the fact that he's with her for reasons that don't extend beyond convenience and fond affection because she gets everything she needs out of the relationship. He's not hurting her or letting her down or failing to live up to her expectations of 'Them'.
They're both satisfied by the terms and limitations of their relationship at this point, and it's not for publicity – it's not false or a lie or any kind of nefarious 'scheme' – but it's a measure of security for Zayn.
It's easy.
It's safe.
-
Harry is neither of those things.
Harry is a disaster waiting to happen – mayhem just waiting to be invited and poised ready to unravel every minute of every single day. And that's what life in a band is like when Harry Styles is right there by your side, but when Zayn's feelings for him become nothing at all brotherly or safely affectionate he becomes something to be avoided at all costs – a truth to bury for the sake of not only Zayn's sanity, but the good of the band – the continued success of their dream.
With Harry, Zayn isn't thinking of himself, because it's no longer a matter of keeping a secret safe. It's become an issue of actual, inevitable destruction and one that Zayn won't be able to contain or turn inward, inflict upon himself for the sake of hurting no-one else.
Sometimes he thinks about it. Or doing something about it, to put it more accurately. He falls asleep at night thinking about what it would mean to pad across the hall to Harry's room in his bare feet and knock on the door, ask to be let in and let stay.
It can't be like that. Harry's not like Zayn, and even if he was they couldn't dare.
Zayn is used to not getting what he wants.
It's harder with Harry right there beside him every hour of every day, but Zayn is well versed in careful ignorance and pinched, sharp refusal.
It doesn't get to him. He doesn't think about it.
-
He can't stop thinking about it.
Louis sits in Harry's lap and throws an arm around his shoulders and Harry laughs and leans into it and Zayn wants to be sick, he wants to storm out and have Liam come and talk him out of it, because he's being totally fucking ridiculous and he knows that – he knows there's nothing going on between Harry and Louis – but he wants to be able to think that there is, and have his reasonable, expected reaction to that be one of jealousy. He wants that to be acceptable. He wants to be able to feel the way he feels, even if it's stupid. And have it seen as only stupid.
Harry dances up to him during rehearsal and shimmies in place, his hips and his stripe-socked feet moving in nothing close to time with one another, and he's ridiculous and he's grinning and he darts forward to press a kiss to Zayn's cheek before he spins away to distract someone else, and Zayn wants to chase him. He wants to tumble Harry down onto the hardwood floor of this dance studio and find his mouth and take it, in front of the rest of the band and their manager and choreographer as easily as he thinks he'd do it in front of the whole world sometimes, because it's Harry and Zayn wants.
Zayn has known the warm, comfortable embrace of women that he loves, and the rough, rushed thrill of being next to a body that feels right, a body that made Zayn see stars and in the aftermath a world blurred by tears, because it was all so much.
Harry feels like both. Zayn has no idea what Harry feels like, and the wondering drives him mad. Sends him reeling. Some days he feels pushed out of his skin by it – driven beyond sense or reason or forced, ancient practice. Some days Harry himself is the only thing that can bring him back – touching him so carefully and hesitantly that Zayn remembers he's none of the things Zayn wants him to be, only his friend and already more important to Zayn than anyone else has ever been.
It's torture.
Zayn loves him.
-
Harry loves women. All kinds of women. Ones far too old for him, ones maybe even a little bit too young for him, and most of all – women who love him. And that seems to be most of them.
He doesn't talk about his conquests, but he lets them leave their presence carved into him, set in bruises and framed by shallow, jagged scratches. Loud through his sour moods and sickeningly thick in the smiles that spread wanton and slow across Harry's face in the days that follow. The teeth marks bother Zayn the most, because that's intimate in a way that Zayn doesn't like to think about other people getting to be with Harry. On the days when Harry appears with bite marks sunk around bright, livid bruises Zayn will find any excuse to be close to him. To catch Harry for a hug with his fingers rough against Harry's throat, dragging winces and surprised gasps out of him, or nipping a well-aimed pinch to the dark flash of reddened ridges that Harry's sheer white v-neck reveal high on his ribs. Once, Zayn dared to press a soft, gentle kiss over someone else's claim to Harry's collarbone. Zayn's heart had hammered loud, clanging warning sounds through him for the rest of the day, but Harry had looked at him like maybe he'd done something right. Maybe Harry didn't mind.
-
Zayn wakes up to the vaguely uncomfortable but not totally unexpected feeling that someone is watching him.
Harry is sitting at the end of his bunk, slumped down against the bottom wall so his head and shoulders are leaning back against it but his legs are spread wide, flung out around where Zayn's lie under the covers. He's only wearing his boxers, and Zayn doesn't need to catalogue the marks on his body to remember that Harry went out last night, took someone from security and disappeared out into the new city that sprawled out around them. Harry has his arms crossed over his chest and the finger print bands of bruises around his wrists are new, but Zayn hopes Harry will take his wide-eyed surprise to be for his presence in general. That's not new either, though. Harry always comes to find Zayn the morning after.
“Good night?” Zayn asks, sitting up a little and rubbing sleep from his eyes, grateful for the excuse to look away from Harry's wrists.
Harry's expression doesn't change. He's still staring at Zayn, head tilted to one side, the same way he had been when Zayn woke up.
He gets like this. It's like even though random hook-ups are something he obviously thrives on and enjoys, they're a means to an end for him too, and one that necessarily mess him up a bit more before they bring him any kind of resolution.
Zayn settles in, tugs his blanket up under his chin and waits.
“How are things with you and Perrie?” Harry asks eventually, and he's never what you could call predictable, but Zayn definitely hadn't been expecting that.
“Uh ... fine? She's great. We're good, yeah.”
Zayn is only marginally dismayed to find that this answer sounds as forced and foreign as the ones he gives in interviews. Harry notices, of course.
“Isn't it too hard? Being apart so much? Liam's always on the phone to Danielle, and Louis sees Eleanor about as much as he sees the rest of us. Don't you miss her?”
Harry asks this in that carelessly cruel way he has of putting things that he doesn't really want to talk about – answers to questions he's already answered or denials he's already reeled off ten times today. He doesn't mean to be so blunt, or to imply so much with it. Zayn doesn't know if he even realizes he's doing it or hears how it sounds.
Zayn doesn't answer. He pulls his arms up out of the covers and pushes his hands through his hair, wincing when he feels it's still stiff with the product he was too tired to bother washing out of it before he'd fallen into bed last night. He doesn't know what to tell Harry. He doesn't want to lie, and he doesn't know what Harry wants him to say.
Harry just watches him, apparently unconcerned that Zayn hasn't answered his question.
“What did you get up to last night?” Zayn tries again, and Harry nods slightly, acquiescing. He pitches forward onto his hands and knees and crawls up to sit across Zayn's thighs, heavy above his knees.
“Do you want details, Zayn?” This was another of Harry's tricks. Being so openly, obviously provocative that the others had no choice but to give in long before Harry ever had to make good on his promises.
Zayn wasn't in the mood for it right now. He was tired, and still sleep-stupid and Harry was in his bunk on top of him with someone else's touch branded across his wrists, and he was sick of today already. He was sick of all of this.
“Go on then. What was her name?”
Harry's smile only dims for a second before it visibly brightens, turns cold and edged.
“His name was Dylan,” Harry says sweetly, and it's Zayn that turns cold then. It feels like someone has tipped a bucket of ice cold water over his head and he's left shivering, frozen.
Harry continues.
“He was 20, but still so young. Eager. And careless,” Harry adds, lifting up one wrist to show Zayn marks that he's already memorized the shape and color of.
Zayn really is going to be sick, this time. He's going to push Harry off of him and stagger to the tiny, cramped bathroom and wash the contents of his stomach away in the hopes that they'll take with them some of the layers of feelings that are peeling away inside of him, swimming up through him and choking him.
“Why would you ... how can you just say that,” he spits instead, because how could Harry? How could he sit there, smiling, and say that to Zayn like it's easy. Like it's okay. Almost like it's true.
Zayn doesn't know if Harry knows about him, somehow, and is trying to get a rise out of him with this, or whether he's simply bored and trying to shock him. Eitherway, Zayn isn't prepared for it – he doesn't know what to DO with the idea that Harry's trying to make him think of as real and possible.
Harry sighs, but Zayn can see the cracks in his expression. He can see how Harry has gone further than he'd wanted and is in unfamiliar territory now, lost on a path he'd lead himself down.
“It's not a big deal,” Harry says, looking away, but it sounds more like a question than anything else. He's not sure that what he's saying is true. Zayn's sure it's not.
But Harry isn't looking at Zayn and waiting for his chance to apologize, he's not looking at Zayn at all. He's looking down at his own hands like he's never seen them before in his life, and Zayn knows that look. He's only ever seen it once before, but it was on his own face, and Zayn remembers how that look feels.
“Harry,” Zayn says, fraught and quiet, reaching for Harry's hands.
“Harry .... did you? Really?”
A tremble rips through Harry visibly, but he takes a breath and steels his expression. He flips one of his hands in Zayn's hold so that their fingers are laced together, and then he lifts his head and looks at Zayn.
“I did,” he says, “I do. I didn't mean to tell you, but ... I did. I do.”
And there's that searching look. Zayn gives something similar in return, but he can't find any trace of another angle on Harry's face or through his touch. He's telling the truth. He's scared, and he's unsure of himself, but he's determined, and he's telling Zayn. He's brave.
“Who else knows?” Zayn asks, because he doesn't know what else to say just yet, he needs a moment to think.
Maybe Harry needs a minute, too, because the question seems to calm him.
“My family. Most of my friends. Louis. Paul. Most of management, I think. Liam knows but has never said as much, and Niall doesn't want to know, I don't think. I don't mean he minds, he just ... doesn't want to talk about it, maybe. I'm bi. It's not ... it doesn't have to be a big deal? Does it?”
And the thing is – Zayn doesn't fucking know anymore. Because it does. He's gay and that's always been the biggest deal, but Harry is bi and ... Zayn doesn't think of him any differently now that he knows that. It doesn't change Harry the same way being gay doesn't change Zayn, but. But how is this true? How is Harry able to tell people this true thing about him when Zayn can't? And -
“Why didn't you tell me? When did the others ... why did you hide it from me?” Zayn tries not to sound as hurt as he feels when he says it, but he doesn't think he succeeds.
When Harry gently squeezes his hand, Zayn knows he didn't.
“I ... I didn't want to. But it seems like ... like maybe it's an issue for you. You don't talk about it at all, you don't ever want to talk to us about it when it comes up in interviews and ... I thought maybe with your religion or just because of how you felt that maybe you wouldn't ... that you might not be okay with it.”
The very worst part about all of this is how Harry won't look away from Zayn as he says it. It's like he's determined to know how Zayn really feels, even if it's not good, even if it'll hurt Harry.
It's so clear to Zayn then how much Harry loves him that it breaks his heart.
“Harry,” is all Zayn can say.
“Harry, Harry, c'mere,” while he's pulling Harry forward into his arms and wrapping him up in a hug, both of them shaking and terrified although Harry can't know that. Zayn wants to tell him – wants to show him that he's not alone and that he's wrong and that Zayn loves him, but all he can do in that moment is clutch Harry to him as close as they can get, and tell him that nothing he is will ever be a problem for Zayn, nothing about him could be bad as far as Zayn is concerned.
They sit like that, Harry in an emotional heap on top of Zayn and Zayn holding it together for both of them, until Harry can pull away and wipe at his eyes and grin at Zayn – a little watery but bright enough to blind Zayn.
“All of us forever, yeah?” Harry asks, and adds “and you and me, alright?” in a way that Zayn doesn't totally understand, but it's an effort to include him, maybe, something to show him that he won't ever be left out or left in the dark again.
“Friends forever,” Zayn replies, and looks away before he can see the smile that brings to Harry's face.
-
They stick close together for the rest of the day.
Cuddling up on the sofa in the lounge to watch movies they've seen before, and not straying outside of arms reach whenever they have to disembark the bus.
Harry sits in Zayn's lap for half their interviews, and this is greeted with nothing but smiles from their interviewers and friends alike.
-
It's a good day, and they have a great show.
Zayn feels closer to Harry and by extension closer to all of them than he's ever felt before, which he hadn't thought possible. Nothing was wrong, or out of sync, but now that Harry has told him – now that Zayn has heard it said – everything seems different.
They go out there and play like they’re a single unit - aware of one another even beyond their general level of worrying co-dependence, and it’s brilliant.
It’s the happiest Zayn thinks he’s ever been, but in a strangely fragile, tentative sort of way. He feels like they’re on the precipice of something, here. The band, and Harry, and him and Harry, and maybe just him, too.
Today has been important, and this show has been incredible - this entire tour has been amazing, but this one show is the best they’ve ever been, Zayn thinks, and sees that thought mirrored on the faces of each of the others.
But the euphoria is short lived.
Today and this show give way to tonight, and tonight doesn’t fall in line and follow the trend set by this day.
Tonight is a nightmare.
-
They have a handful of interviews to slog through before they can leave the arena, and there are already microphone leads criss-crossing over the floor of their meet and greet room when they get backstage.
Zayn strips out of his clothes and heads straight for the showers. There’s a communal set up in most venues they play these days, but today is the first day that Zayn truly thinks nothing at all of stripping down in front of the others. He doesn’t think about how one stray look might kick off into an argument, or worry about how the fact that it hasn’t ever must say something to the crew that works around them.
He strips down and soaps up and doesn’t think about a single thing beyond what he’s going to get to eat once they get back to the hotel.
-
And then he’s out-rightly asked if he’s gay.
No pre-amble, no attempt made to work up to the question, no effort afforded to making it seem almost cursory, as usual.
-
“Are any of the members of the band gay?”
“Are any of you hiding anything?”
-
Zayn can’t even remember what he said. He knows he stammered a denial, and he hopes that his shock comes across as being for the nature of the question and not the question itself, but he can’t remember the specifics.
He can’t remember anything else he’s asked after that, or how he gets from the venue outside into the van.
All he knows is that his bag is lifted onto his shoulder and there’s a hand in the small of his back, gently pushing him forward, and then the door is slid shut with something of a deafening boom, and Zayn looks up to see that he’s in the van with the others.
Just him and the boys.
Everything’s okay, for now.
-
Zayn spends almost the entire drive back to the hotel curled up against the window - lost in his own thoughts and being dragged under by the waves of his every fear again and again and again.
After twenty minutes spent sitting in traffic, he’s worn raw.
He surfaces to look around at the others, and only notices now that they’ve all been completely silent so far. Liam had been with him for the interview, and Zayn’s sure that Liam handled it okay, but he also knows from his quick, frightened glance that Liam had at least told everyone that something had happened. That Zayn wasn’t okay.
Liam is sitting in the seat alongside Zayn’s, his head tilted against his own window and his earbuds in, but suspiciously silent, and his face tilted toward Zayn, obviously watching for some sign that Zayn might need him.
Louis and Niall are in the row behind them, sitting facing one another and playing some kind of silent card game, which is absolutely unheard of for either of them.
Harry is the only one openly watching Zayn.
He’s sitting in the middle of the bench seat at the back, sprawled comfortably with his legs spread and his hands in his pockets, staring unabashed at Zayn even when Zayn makes eye contact.
Zayn doesn’t know if he’s angry at Harry for being so obviously concerned for him, or if he’s angry at himself for letting it get to him in the first place, or angry at everyone in the whole entire world for making Zayn feel the way he does about himself - about something he can’t change and isn’t ashamed of.
He’s so fucking sick of being careful all the fucking time, and having to think about what everyone else will think about what he feels and what he wants.
Zayn takes a deep breath, mentally flips the world the bird, and shoves his bag to the floor.
He doesn’t look at anyone else as he gets up and moves through the practically non-extent aisle through the center of the van, but he does make sure to briefly touch Liam, Niall and Louis as he passes them - a quick, heavy hand on their shoulder or arm to let them know that he’s okay.
When he reaches Harry he sits next to him and puts his head on Harry’s shoulder. And when Harry shifts to make him more comfortable, and lets Zayn know that it’s alright, Zayn lifts his feet up onto the seat and curls up half in Harry’s lap.
Harry puts one hand on Zayn’s waist, and tugs Zayn’s hood up with the other, leaving his other hand tucked between Zayn’s jaw and Harry’s leg.
Zayn turns his face into the soft, familiar smelling fabric of Harry’s sweatpants, and then he closes his eyes and lets himself stop pretending, just this once. Just for a minute.
-
Traffic clears quickly, and they’re at the hotel, checked in and heading up to their rooms in under half an hour, but lying like that with Harry had been huge for Zayn. Huge and terrifying in the same way that even thinking about telling someone the truth about who he is can be, but the inverse too - frightening in a good way.
Zayn had stayed very still, and thought about telling Harry. About telling all four of them.
And for the first time ever, that wasn’t a thought that he’d dismissed immediately.
-
They trail into the elevator exhausted as usual, but at least no-one is looking at Zayn like he’s a caged animal anymore.
Louis throws an arm around his waist as soon as they step on and says “alright, babe?” and Zayn nods, and that’s that.
He’s alright. He is.
-
Liam bows out first, yawning as he waves them off and heads to bed as early as possible as always.
Louis starts trying to drag Harry away to his room for secret bff-bonding as soon as they step off the elevator, and Harry goes willingly once Zayn gives him the nod and smile he waits for.
When it’s just Niall and Zayn left, Niall smiles that patented cheeky little grin of his, and couples it with an eyebrow waggle when he asks “drinks?”
“Yes please,” Zayn replies, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders and letting him lead them to his room.
-
Niall and Zayn have something of a special bro-bond, and Zayn loves it.
They don’t all have best friends in the band, and if they do it tends to change from day to day or week to week, but Zayn has always been Niall’s best friend in the band, and Niall is someone that Zayn knows he can always depend on.
If he needs to talk, he goes to Liam.
If he needs to distract himself from something or do something spectacularly stupid and ill-advised, he goes to Louis.
If he needs to feel needed, or really truly understood, or finds himself owed a special kind of torture for some reason, he seeks out Harry.
Niall is a total lack of judgement. Drinks and laughter with a good friend that never gets serious and never makes Zayn have to think. Niall provides the perfect kind of relief, for Zayn.
-
But Niall is also the one wild-card, when it comes to Zayn’s ‘issue’.
Liam and Louis and Harry would certainly understand, and welcome Zayn’s honesty.
Would Niall?
Even thinking about this is such a massive step for Zayn - further than he’s ever been before, and such a great distance traveled in only one day. He’s not ready, not yet, but today has made him just brave and determined enough to push, a bit. To try.
“Nialler …” Zayn begins, when they’ve had enough drinks to make whatever film they’re watching seem absolutely hilarious, even though Zayn knows he found this exact scene boring and ridiculous only last week.
“About that interview ….”
He lets the question hang in mid-air, because he’s a bit drunk, and a tiny bit determined, but he’s also not about to have let go of years of hang-ups and fears in the space of one day.
Niall lifts himself up onto his elbows to look at Zayn, and Zayn can practically see the effort it takes Niall to clear his clouded vision, which only makes him appreciate it more.
Niall frowns at him for a second before letting himself fall back onto his back on the bed next to Zayn, glaring at the ceiling.
“That was out of order. I couldn’t believe it when Liam told us what that wanker had said. It’s fucking bullshit is what it is,” he says in one vodka-tinged breath, and Zayn isn’t surprised by the anger in his voice. This is Niall’s usual reaction.
“But …” Zayn takes a gulp of air and tries to give his mind over to the alcohol, fights hard against the pull of his long-established thought patterns.
“But what if it wasn’t. Bullshit, I mean.”
Niall turns to look at him, but he’s not angry now, the look he gives Zayn is something contemplative.
He screws his face up in thought before he finally says,
“You mean like … Haz?”
Zayn listens for his heartbeat, and when he’s sure it’s still there, nods carefully. He doesn’t feel bad about taking the cowardly angle on this. He’s going easy on himself, today.
“Well … that doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not about how true these things are, mate, it’s about people asking. It’s not fucking right - it’s none of their business. I just …” Niall trails off, deflating, and bites his lip before he continues, speaking in a hushed tone now, voice soft and considering.
“I just can’t stand to see any of you get hurt. So what if you like guys? That wasn’t against the law last time I checked. Some stuff is just … nobodies business. And I know I get aggro over it, but I don’t want you … I don’t want any of you to think that that’s because I’m a homophobe or something. I love all of ye. I don’t care who you love.”
Zayn listens to all of this, and lets himself really hear what Niall is saying.
And then he turns onto his side and hits Niall square in the face with a pillow.
“That was beautiful, Niall. Really touching, you know?”
“I’ll show you ‘touching’,” Niall vows, climbing on top of Zayn and clearly gearing up to tickle him within in an inch of his life.
Zayn doesn’t think about the connotations of that, or worry that Niall might. He stays exactly where he is and lets Niall do as he will.
-
Zayn eventually makes it to his own room somewhere around two am, and passes out almost immediately. He gets his shoes and socks off and manages to step out of his jeans, and then he’s out like a light.
He sleeps easily. Peacefully.
-
And he wakes once more to the knowledge that he’s being watched. This time it isn’t even purely theoretical knowledge, because there’s an arm slung around his waist and a body snuggled up behind his.
’please don’t be harry, please don’t be harry,’ Zayn thinks desperately, almost prays when the body starts to move.
“Whra?” Harry asks, his voice a hum against Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn very briefly hates every deity.
“Haz?” Zayn says in response, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to squirm back into Harry’s hold. He doesn’t have to, though, because the arm around his waist tightens, and he’s dragged back against Harry’s chest and held there.
“Hey,” Harry whispers, tucking the greeting in against Zayn’s throat with his mouth pressed warm and wet to Zayn’s skin.
Zayn shivers and then goes right back to trying very hard to stay still, because waking up hard in his boxers is inconvenient enough without having to broach that topic with Harry, similarly undressed and manhandling Zayn in his own bloody bed.
“Everything okay?” Zayn ventures, and Harry rubs his face against the rise of Zayn’s shoulder. He mumbles something incoherent against Zayn’s skin, and shifts against him in a way that is distressingly hot, because it’s his body moving against Zayn’s and they’re alone, in bed together, almost naked, and Zayn wants to turn in Harry’s arms and earn knowledge of Harry like this.
“Sorry,” Harry finally articulates, “I came in to wake you up early so we could talk, but then you were sleeping so peacefully and you made it look so good and I had to-”
“Let me guess - you had to climb into bed with me. Is this how your head works all the time? Like - always?”
Harry laughs against him, and Zayn feels it, and he needs to get out of this bed.
“Yeah, when I’m around you,” Harry says, his voice low and rough from sleep, still, or maybe not just from that, and Zayn needs to get as far away from Harry as he possibly can.
Zayn closes his eyes and counts to ten, and is then miraculously saved by the bell.
‘The bell’ being his ringtone - ‘Where Have You Been’ by Rihanna, courtesy of Harry himself.
They’re late, of course, almost spectacularly so, and Zayn doesn’t feel even a little bit bad about hustling Harry out the door so he can jump in the shower.
He maybe wishes he didn’t have to when he steps under the spray and starts to quickly think back over the events of the morning so far, but he definitely doesn’t feel bad.
They don’t get to talk, but Zayn feels better anyway.
-
Zayn’s thinking things over, as usual, carefully cataloguing everything that has happened and weighing up all possible likelihoods and eventualities, when Liam comes to sit next to him.
They’re waiting around during some kind of a lighting check - Louis is on the phone in the corner, Niall has gone to investigate the catering situation, and Harry is in the toilet. Liam plops down next to Zayn on the sofa, and throws his legs up over Zayn’s knees, effectively trapping him.
“So, do you think -”
“Look, I’m not sure, Li. I mean … you know, obviously, because I lost it during that interview. You probably knew before that, because you always do, but I’m just not ready to say it out loud yet. I’m getting there, I really am, and you’ll be the first to know when I get there, but it’s a lot to deal with. Harry might make it look easy, but I’ve got to think about things beyond the band. I’ve never felt like I had to hide it from you four, but there’s a difference between that and actually declaring it. I’ve got to think about how far I want to go with this. But you’re right, Liam, and I can see that, now. It’s time I was honest with myself, and you lot are my best friends. I know nothing will change, but I just need a little bit more time, okay?”
Zayn says it in a rush, and a huge, huge weight lifts when he’s done, but he hadn’t even really planned on saying any of that.
When he looks at Liam it doesn’t seem like Liam was expecting it, either.
“I … I was going to ask if you thought we should go out after the party tonight, actually,” Liam says faintly, and last month or even last week Zayn would have his head in the nearest bin right about now, but here and now, considering everything that the last couple of days have meant and the change they’ve effected for him - Zayn laughs. He leans his forehead in against Liam’s knees and reaches for his hand, gripping it tightly as he laughs and laughs and laughs.
Liam looks kind of terrified.
“But what you said was … good, too. We love you, no matter what. Take all the time you need,” he says, patting Zayn on the shoulder and trying to smile reassuringly even through his wide-eyed, shell-shocked stare.
Zayn, still laughing, tackles him to the ground and accidentally incites near-riot when the other three trail back in and dive on.
By the time they de-tangle and start to get themselves together, Zayn’s face genuinely aches from laughing, and he feels as light as he began to feel yesterday, all over again.
He told someone. Sort of. Mostly. And nothing has changed. They’re all okay.
-
The show that night is the very last of the tour, and it’s a great time to be going home, as far as Zayn’s concerned.
He’s got a lot of things to work out and a lot of decisions to put into action.
He’s finally ready.
After years spent waiting for the right time, and wondering if it existed at all, he’s there at last.
Zayn’s gay. And that’s a truth he’s held close to his chest for a long time now, but it’s one that sits just fine with him.
It’s something he’s ready to share.
-
Zayn sheds every ounce of doubt he’s carried this far somewhere between their dressing room and the stage.
He stands up there with his four best friends, and he welcomes every scrutiny that comes his way because none matter now that didn’t matter before. He knows exactly who he is, and no opinion or reaction can change that.
They perform the show of their lives, and they all cry a bit. None of them want to leave the stage, but when they do it’s with smiles on their faces and hand in hand.
They finish this tour out the same way they started it.
Zayn is still the same person he was when they came out here.
It’s about time he started living that truth.
-
It’s not going to be smooth sailing from here on out, and Zayn knows that.
He’s decided to tell his family as soon as he gets home, and together they’ll talk about how far they want that knowledge to go within the family.
He’ll tell management, and he’ll tell the boys, and at least some of that will be difficult, but none of it will change who Zayn is.
He’s no longer prepared to live in fear of that.
-
Maybe eventually he’ll start going on dates with guys he’s attracted to.
That seems like a long way off, but it also seems like it could be a lot of fun.
It’s not the only or even a main motivation for his decision, but it’s part of it.
-
Harry’s part of it, too.
-
That night at their ‘end of tour’ party, Zayn watches Harry from across the room and wonders what Harry will make of what Zayn has to tell him.
Zayn watches Harry at the bar, laughing in that way of his that’s totally free and careless - his head thrown back and his throat bared. Zayn sits alone at a table in one of the darker corners, and sits watching Harry full and brimming with the knowledge that he’s in love with him, that whatever else happens that won’t change. And Zayn wouldn’t want it to. He has no illusions as to how they’ll end up or where their friendship could lead, but he’s happy anyway. He’s content to love Harry every single day, even if Harry doesn’t love him back the same way, because Harry does love him and that’s more than Zayn could ask for, he thinks.
He hopes Harry won’t think that Zayn is finally being honest with any kind of agenda. He hopes he’ll know it’s because Harry’s bravery made Zayn see that he could do the same - he could be brave too. Because he needed to be, and because Harry inspired him to be.
Even if Harry doesn’t see that straight away, Zayn will make him see. He’ll tell Harry everything he needs to know, and he trusts Harry to listen.
-
They all have a little bit too much to drink, and they do go out after their after-party like Liam suggested.
They go to a small club around the corner from their hotel, and after that tour and that party it already feels a little bit like coming home to get to go out in relative anonymity and dance and drink and have fun that isn’t being catalogued or commented on.
It’s a great end to a truly life-changing tour, and Zayn will remember this part of his life forever.
-
Specifically, he’ll remember tonight as the night that he kissed Harry.
-
He really does not mean to. He always wants to, but he truly doesn’t plan to, tonight. He still can’t really figure out why he did, or how he came to.
-
What happens is this:
Louis pulls both Zayn and Harry back to Harry’s room for a ‘nightcap’.
Zayn knows he shouldn’t go - not least of all because he’s already had way too much to drink. He’s not totally wasted, but he’s definitely drunk.
Harry is too.
Louis less so, but he’s always beyond control - his or anyone else’s - so that hardly matters.
They have a drink, and they laugh a lot, and Zayn tells them both that he loves them, because he does, and then Louis leaves, and Zayn was supposed to be afraid of that, for some reason, wasn’t he?
He doesn’t remember why, then, though, because he and Harry are left alone, and that can’t be a bad thing, surely.
Zayn and Harry lie side by side on Harry’s bed, and at some point someone reaches for someone else because they’re holding hands all of a sudden, and that’s really nice.
It’s nice, but it’s also bad, Zayn remembers that much even if he can’t remember the reason, so he staggers to his feet and gets his shoes on the right feet and everything, and then he’s heading for the door, and he’s going to leave.
Only.
Harry gets up to walk him to the door.
And Harry has had much more to drink than Zayn has.
So just when Zayn turns to say goodnight, Harry trips over his own shoes.
Zayn reaches out to catch him just as Harry reaches to steady himself with his hands on Zayn’s waist, and then …
Somehow, in an instant, Harry has Zayn pushed up against the back of his hotel room door, and there’s barely an inch of space between them and no air in the room at all - maybe none left in the world, because Zayn can’t breathe and Harry isn’t even looking at him, he’s watching Zayn’s mouth instead, and that’s a terrible, terrible decision on Harry’s part because it leaves Zayn with no choice but to kiss him.
Which he does.
He uses his hold on Harry’s shoulders to drag him in and close that last sliver of space between them, and then he glances at Harry just once, giving him time to step away, before he leans in and presses his mouth to Harry’s.
Harry could still walk away at that point. Zayn is holding him loosely, more a suggestion than anything else, and Harry could so easily step back and walk away from him.
He tries to get closer instead. He opens his mouth around a groan and pushes his hips forward into Zayn’s instead, and Zayn is only human.
They kiss like that - hard and sure and desperate - until they’re straining against one another, both hard in their jeans, and Harry’s hands are straying below Zayn’s waistband, headed for territory with the kind of palpable agenda that Zayn’s not clearheaded enough to allow right now.
Somehow, (and he’ll never know how) he gets it together and gently pushes Harry away.
Somehow, he doesn’t pull Harry back in when Harry stands blinking at him with his chest heaving and his mouth kissed red and full, his hands already trying to reach for Zayn again.
“Harry what the fuck are we doing,” Zayn manages to say, and Harry smiles.
“This is what you wanted,” he says, still smiling.
-
So what happens is this:
Zayn walks away.
He just barely makes it inside his room and to his knees on the tile before he vomits.
-
They don’t talk about it at breakfast the following morning, or on the flight home, or when they say goodbye at the airport.
Zayn keeps his sunglasses on and his hood up throughout the day, and that’s only partially because he’s hanging after last night.
They’re all tired and hungover, so Zayn’s behavior doesn’t stand out as strange, and besides - Harry is avoiding him, in return.
Zayn is hurt, and confused. He’ll never forget the glazed, ingratiating smirk on Harry’s face as he told Zayn that he was just giving him what he wanted, but in the grand scheme of things nothing much has changed.
Zayn’s heading home to sit down with his family and sort some things out, and when he meets up with the lads again things will go as planned - he’ll tell them what he wants them to know. He’ll still be in love with Harry, even though now a little bit of him wishes he wasn’t, but they won’t be together because that was never going to happen anyway.
Some things will never change.
-
Walking away from the other four, Zayn turns back to look at Harry one more time.
He’s standing waiting with Louis for his luggage, but he’s looking right at Zayn, watching him leave.
Normally Zayn would smile and wave, and before last night he’d probably have been a little scared to walk away like this, knowing what things were going to be like next time they were all together.
Zayn doesn’t smile or wave.
He turns the collar of his coat up against the wind and rain that waits for him, and steps out into the thickly wet air, jumping to dodge puddles and immensely glad to be home.
He’s still a little scared, despite everything that happened.
-
They’ve got four days back home with their families before they’re meeting up in London to check in with their label.
Zayn goes straight home, spends an hour straight hugging everyone, and then falls into bed and sleeps for twenty hours.
He wakes up, and showers, and gives himself one long, final look in that bathroom mirror before he smiles and heads downstairs to gather his family.
-
It doesn’t go perfectly, or easily. His mother cries, and that makes Zayn cry, but she’s not upset or ashamed - she’s worried for him, and as she says over and over again - sorry that they ever made him feel like he couldn’t be honest with them.
He explains that it’s not their fault, that it’s something he’s struggled with but something that he’s most importantly come to terms with.
He’s a man now, and he’s gay, and the time came for them to know.
His sisters just roll their eyes and muss his hair. Doniya gives him a look that suggests she’s known about as long as he has, and Waliyha doesn’t seem all that surprised or concerned. Safaa is too young to be here, too young to understand, but Zayn and the others will explain it to her together when they decide the time is right.
Zayn’s father doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Zayn is apprehensive when he finally chooses to speak. He can’t say anything that will change Zayn’s mind, or make Zayn feel bad about himself, and that’s why it’s important that he waited until now to tell them.
Zayn’s father opens his mouth to speak, but then forgoes words in favor of hugging Zayn tightly, instead.
“You’re my son,” he says, “and I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
It’s fitting that Zayn’s father echoes exactly what Liam and Niall have already said in a round-about sort of way, because Zayn’s really just got two different types of family, now.
-
After an emotional but ultimately rewarding visit back home, Zayn heads back down to London to meet up with the rest of the band.
He drops his bags off at his flat, first, and it’s raining again when he steps back out.
Zayn leaves his hood down and doesn’t steer clear of puddles, this time. The rain is comfortingly familiar on his skin, and nothing at all to be afraid of.
-
Management take it surprisingly well, but then again - they’ve already gone through a lot of this with Harry, Zayn supposes.
He’s instructed to be very careful, and warned that they’ll have to have a follow up meeting with PR about Perrie and what he’ll do there. He’ll break up with her if that’s what she wants, of course, but if their relationship can continue to benefit them both when they’re on the same page then maybe it’ll go ahead. Zayn isn’t rushing into another relationship, regardless.
They decide that he won’t come out publicly - not yet at least, and that’s fine by Zayn.
So that just leaves telling the band.
-
They already knew, as Zayn suspected.
Niall laughs and punches him in the shoulder, and Louis jumps on his back and presses a smacking kiss to Zayn’s cheek (laughingly instructing him not to enjoy it ‘too much’ in ‘mixed company’) and Liam pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back and telling Zayn that he loves him - that they love him.
Harry hangs back.
When the other three get into heated debate over where to go for lunch, Harry pulls Zayn to one side.
“Gay?” he asks, and Zayn for the very first time wishes he weren’t having this conversation.
It’s been liberating, and terrifying - but so important, and Zayn has relished this opportunity to be honest with everyone he loves.
Harry has to make that difficult. Harry is very, very good at making everything difficult.
“Yes, Harry. I’m gay. That’s what I said,” Zayn says, trying to pull his elbow out of Harry’s hold.
“You’re not bi? What about Perrie?” he has the nerve to ask, and Zayn stops struggling to frown at him instead.
“I thought we’d talked about this. I know we’ve talked about this. You’re bi, and my relationship with Perrie is basically a friendship. A perfectly valid one, so leave it, yeah?”
Harry looks stunned, and Zayn hasn’t got a clue why. They’ve been over this. They have.
“I didn’t … I didn’t realize,” Harry says softly, and that’s great, that’s exactly what Zayn needed to hear. Harry didn’t realize that Zayn was actually gay, and now that he does he probably regrets having kissed him even more. What could have been written off as as joke between two bi-curious friends has now become Zayn making a fool of himself by making it clear that he wasn’t just messing around with Harry, he isn’t really in a relationship - he’s just Harry’s gay friend who kissed him and must have meant it, then.
Wonderful.
-
The five of them have a pretty great lunch, all things considered.
Zayn misses them all, even when they’re only apart for a day or two, and nobody treats him any differently or makes things strange or awkward.
Everything is exactly like always, and Zayn will always miss this when he hasn’t got it.
Niall makes Louis laugh so hard that pepsi comes out of his nose, and Liam sits at the head of the table rolling his eyes fondly like he's a loving, indulgent grandfather.
When they sit down to order Harry smoothly shoves Niall out of the way so he can sit next to Zayn, and although they don't speak much during the meal he's watchful throughout. It doesn't feel like the suspicious or calculating kind of observation that Harry can put them under if he thinks one of them have somehow wronged him, so some of Zayn's worry-turned-anger dissipates, giving over into exhaustion that's nothing at all to do with how much he's slept lately.
Before they part ways again, Harry stops Zayn with a hand warm on his bicep and pulls him into a hug. He noses a wordless apology against the angle of Zayn's jaw, and before he lets him go, says "I love you, you know."
And Zayn does know - he did know - but he needed to hear it again, anyway.
-
Back at his apartment that evening, Zayn changes into some pyjama bottoms and climbs onto the sofa, ready to spend the first night in a long time all by himself.
He can’t say he’s disappointed when the buzzer goes, or at least he can’t until Harry’s voice comes over the intercom, asking to be let in.
Zayn only thinks about refusing for about three seconds, and knows he’d never really turn Harry away.
It’s a good idea to get this sorted before the five of them meet up again. Zayn can explain that it didn’t have to mean anything, and Harry will believe him when he sees that Zayn really means that. So all Zayn has to do is try to really mean that, somehow. Easy.
By the time Harry gets to Zayn’s front door he’s already shrugged his coat off and his scarf is in his hand, trailing wetly behind him. He’s wearing jeans and a v-neck tshirt underneath, and both are soaked through.
“Bloody hell, did you walk here? From Cheshire?”
Harry doesn’t laugh, and Harry is the easiest of them all to make laugh by miles. That’s a bad sign.
“I went for a walk, and then I came here.”
Harry’s place with Louis is about thirty minute’s walk from here, but Harry doesn’t walk anywhere. And it’s really pouring down. Zayn is genuinely worried now, because if Harry were mad at him or afraid that Zayn had ideas about their relationship that Harry couldn’t share then he wouldn’t have disappeared into his metaphorical shell of introspection, and he only goes on long walks when he’s in there.
“Is everything alright, mate?” Zayn asks immediately, all notion of hurt feelings forgotten in an instant.
Harry throws his coat and his scarf over the island in the kitchen and kicks his shoes off before he turns around to face Zayn again. His expression is serious, and both as blank and expressive as Zayn has ever seen it, because he’s working so hard to keep whatever he’s feeling hidden, but it flits across his face regardless - visible but illegible in his eyes and around the set of his mouth, hinted at by the twist of his fingers and the way he shakes out his curls.
“Look, I … I didn’t know that you were gay. In hindsight, yes, I should have realized, and the other three are going to be making fun of me forever, but you always do so well with girls, and everyone is attracted to you, and I thought that you were just especially picky, but no, you’re gay and that’s fine, that’s great, I’m really proud of you and glad that you told everyone and everything, and I know it kind of makes me a total shit but I thought that if you had a girlfriend and I kissed you when we were drunk then that would somehow make it okay because it would be like a matter of opportunity instead of something that required commitment and I didn’t want to pressure you into or make you feel like you had to make a decision then and there, or ever really, because this is a stressful time for you as is, and I’m in love with you, but I can be not in love with you if you’d prefer - if that would make things easier then I can make it so you never know and I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable or do anything that you didn’t want to do, so just tell me what you want and I’ll do that, yeah? Whatever it is.”
Harry says this all in one breath. Without stopping.
Zayn gapes.
“So … that’s what I came here to say,” Harry adds, and Zayn gapes.
Zayn’s brain comes back online in fits and starts, getting caught on the strangest portions of what Harry’s just said until all he can reply is:
“So when you said that kissing me was what I wanted ….”
“Right, yeah, very poor choice of words on my part - what I meant by that was that it was what we both wanted, obviously, or so I thought, but that … that it could happen the way you wanted it to. That it didn’t have to mean anything you weren’t ready for or didn't want.”
Zayn thinks about that. He thinks about what Harry had said, and thinks about how he’d said it and when and why, and then he thinks about everything that’s happened between them since then, and some things that happened between them before that, too.
And then Zayn has to walk into his kitchen, take a bottle of tequila from a shelf above his sink, and pour two shots of it. He downs one, refills the glass and downs another, and then comes back and hands the other to Harry. Harry looks at it and shrugs, and drinks it in one long swallow. Zayn watches his throat work around the tequila, because he’s allowed to do that now, he thinks.
He’s also probably allowed to take the shot glass out of Harry’s hand and drop it onto his carpetted floor, and then take Harry’s face in his hands and suck the taste of tequila from Harry’s tongue. So he does.
Harry makes a noise of surprise against Zayn’s mouth, but he doesn’t push him away, and this is already going much much better than the last time they did this.
Or at least, it is until Harry does push Zayn away.
He doesn’t push him far, and he keeps his hands on Zayn’s hips and his gaze locked on Zayn’s mouth, but they’re not kissing anymore and Zayn doesn’t understand why.
“Just … to be absolutely clear, this means that we can do this, right? That you’re not feeling pressured or rushed or anything like that? Because if you want to wait we can, or if you need to go out and explore your new sexual freedom then you can do that too and I’ll wait or something, whatever you need -”
Zayn cuts Harry off by pushing him back against the nearest wall and kissing him with the kind of gusto that’ll leave him in no doubt of what Zayn needs to do right now. But when his head clears a moment later (and it’s a wonder that it does at all) Zayn remembers a kind of pertinent detail that they’re skipping over, here.
So he wrenches his mouth away from Harry’s and pushes his hands up into his hair, and says,
“I’m in love with you, too,” before he goes right back to trying to climb Harry, because to recap - he can.
Harry allows it for a moment, helps even - with his hands firm and capable beneath Zayn’s thighs, but then he’s laughing too much to really kiss back properly, and Zayn has to see to it that that stops immediately, because he’s in the middle of something pretty important here, and Harry’s giggles are seriously hindering his work.
“What now?” he asks, but isn’t cross at all anymore when Harry presses his face in against Zayn’s throat and laughs there, instead.
“You what,” Harry manages, and Zayn is lost again. He really hopes this isn’t going to be a trend for their relationship.
“I love you too?” Zayn asks, confused.
When Harry lifts his head to look at him again, there are tears in his eyes that don’t seem entirely born of laughter.
“Do you really?” he marvels, and Zayn doesn’t understand.
“I thought … I figured we’d see how things went for a while, hooking up on the down low until eventually one of the others found out and you were forced to finally make a decision. I had hoped that I could make you fall in love with me by then, but I hadn’t imagined that …”
“That I already would be? That I already am?” Zayn asks, and then he has to cup Harry’s face in his hands again and lean in against him - touch their foreheads together and stay close and still for a moment.
“Because I am, I really am,” Zayn says, and means. "I have been, for ages. I love your face, and I love the trouble you get me into, and I love that you know what I mean even when I don't, and I love that I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone, and feel more at home when I'm with you than I've ever felt before. I never don't want to be with you. I love you."
Harry smiles at him, eyes bright again and going wide just once before they narrow, dropping to Zayn’s mouth and starting in on an entirely different train of thought that Zayn can see coming.
“Good,” Harry says, smile turning sharp, “let me show you how good, yeah?”
And then he’s stripping Zayn’s shirt up over his head and tugging him back towards his bedroom with his fingers hooked through Zayn’s belt loops.
-
They wake up together the next morning and it’s like a repeat of that first time in the hotel - except this time they’re all-the-way naked, and Zayn has sealed his name to Harry's skin in welcomed bruises bitten gently across his hip, over his heart, at the bottom of Harry's throat, safe in the knowledge that almost everyone who will see them will know that they're from him. This time Zayn doesn’t hesitate to get Harry on his back beneath Zayn in his bed - he experiences absolutely no hesitation or anxiety about pushing Harry down into his sheets and learning how he tastes and how he sounds, how he moves against Zayn when they’re together like this and all alone - open to one another, and honest, and in love.
-
So some things change, but most things don’t.
Zayn is still the very same person he’s been for as long as he’s been able to make those kinds of decisions for himself, and he’s still changing every single day - learning more about himself and those around him, those he loves.
The good things stay the same, and the best things get even better.
--
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