Archive of Our Own

"Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brightly as you. It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find the one where you'll return to me."
-tongari

Harry’s never been nervous for a first day before. But he is now, staring at the two ties in his hands and trying to figure out which would fit him best. Which tie makes him look like a professional to a bunch of eight-year olds. He’s not worried about staff or administration; he’s got the job, so obviously he’s impressed them. But he is worried about the kids.

Harry stands in front of the mirror, holding up the red and white-stripped tie to his neck, checking himself out in the reflection. Red makes him look authoritative, like he can take charge of the classroom. But the yellow is more welcoming, more inviting. It makes him appear more open. Both are good qualities to have when working with children.

With a nod, Harry tosses the red tie down and grabs the yellow, loosening it so he can slip it around his neck. He’s just finished unpacking last night, having moved halfway across the country for this job, so his house and his life feel a bit like a mess right now. He really hopes it pays off. It’s all he has. It’s a fresh start and he needs this. He needs this desperately.

“Bongo, it’s time to get up,” Harry says, shaking his cat as he passes him on the couch. Bongo stretches but altogether ignores him, until he hears his food hitting the bowl, and then he comes slinking into the kitchen, back arched in a stretch. “I knew you’d come running.”

Harry follows a routine in the mornings. Wake up, shower, eat breakfast, get dressed, and then finally sit down to enjoy a cup of coffee before he has to run out the door. Well, feed Bongo and then enjoy his coffee. That’s an important step he shouldn’t forget.

“Are you going to wish me good luck on my first day, Bongo?” There’s no answer. There never is. But Harry talks nonetheless. “They said my class is small, only seventeen third graders in the city. If you could even call it that.”

Ashville has – according to the man who hired him and the signs placed proudly around town – two hundred and thirty-one people living inside of it. About half of those are in the school, which houses a room for every grade. They take in kids from surrounding areas, towns smaller than them with people living so far off the grid that it takes them hours to get there every morning. It all sounds so dull to Harry, but that’s what starting over is sometimes. He needs a change, something drastic like moving to Ashville.

The signs will have to change soon, since Harry is now the two hundredth and thirty-second person to call this place home. Or, to eventually call this place home.

+++

The school isn’t that impressive. It’s a simple brick building with windows every few feet, and tons of flowers and trees on the outside. There’s a welcome banner hanging above the door, welcoming back everyone to a brand new year. There’s a surprising lack of children here, even if he is showing up thirty minutes early for his meeting with the principal.

Harry walks the trail to the door cautiously, taking it all in. He’s barely through the front door, looking around at the banners and trophies and the school’s name painted on the floor, when a voice sounds behind him.

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry turns around, startled that anyone knows whom he is. There’s a woman behind him, short and wearing a green dress suit. There’s a grin on her face, one that looks positively overjoyed to be seeing him here.

“Yes,” he says carefully, looking around. He’s only spoken with a man on the phone, a Mark Taylor.

“You’re the only fresh face here over the age of five, Mr. Styles. It’s easy to recognize you.”

“Of course,” Harry laughs. Small town. He stands out like a river in the desert. “And please call me Harry.” He holds his hand out and shakes hers in greeting, smiling back at her. He can only hope he looks as happy as she is.

“And you can call me Margaret. I teach the ninth grade, so unfortunately our classrooms won’t be next to each other. But Mr. Taylor has asked that I give you a little tour. He’s running late this morning, had a meeting with someone else,” the woman – Margaret – says.

“Well, after you, I guess,” Harry says, stepping out of the way. Margaret shows him around, shows him where the different classrooms are located. They keep the young kids away from the older kids, K-6 in their own hallway while 7-12 gets their own. She points out the library, the cafeteria, and the gymnasium, everything that you’d expect to see in a school.

“It’s a fairly simple layout, but we’ve got some maps in the office for ya, just in case you need them.”

“That’d be really helpful.”

“It will be today. I remember I got lost and the students had to help me, talk about embarrassing,” she says and laughs, so Harry does too. It’s polite and he wants to make this a smooth transition for himself. “Oh this is the staff room.” She points towards a doorway, where Harry can see a copy machine and a coffee pot. “You ready to meet everyone?”

“Of course.”

There’s only a few people in the staff room. Harry meets them all slowly. Shelby Becerra, the art teacher with the untamed curls and an opal necklace hanging around her neck. Her eyes are dark, so dark that they could pass for black. Her lips are hot pink and eye makeup heavy, but she’s pleasant enough. She shakes Harry’s hand and wishes him good luck on the first day before drifting off. Then there’s Alex Khan, who teaches the fifth grade, the smallest grade in the school. Harry’s shocked to learn that there are only twelve of them, that he’ll only have to teach such a small number of people. Then he meets the second grade teacher, the eleventh grade, one of the lunch ladies, and the librarian. It’s overwhelming and Harry just knows that he’s not going to be able to remember any of their names.

“Oh Mr. Malik, come here. Come meet Mr. Styles.”

“Harry,” he corrects for the third time in a row. “Please.”

“Sorry,” Margaret laughs, gripping onto his arm to drag him across the room. “Come meet, Harry.”

“I’m coming, Mags,” a voice says.

The man’s back is turned to them, standing at the coffee pot. Harry’s knees feel weak when the man turns around, like they could buckle and leave him collapsed on the floor. His breath leaves his lungs and his head is spinning. He has to prop himself against the wall so he doesn’t fall over, blinking his eyes rapidly to figure out if this is real or not. If this is real or if he’s in another dream, another falsehood of—

“Harry, this is Zayn,” Margaret says, completely unaware of his inner struggle. And it’s definitely not a dream. Harry’s dreams aren’t as clear, aren’t as focused on everything else. “Zayn, this is Harry. He’s here to teach the third grade.”

Zayn’s head tilts as he takes Harry in, an odd expression on his face. Harry holds his breath and waits and hopes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Yeah, we have, one hundred different times and in one hundred different ways. “No, I don’t think so,” Harry says outwardly, doing his best to bite back the overwhelming feeling of Zayn, of having him here, of knowing that they’re finally together once more.

“You look so familiar,” Zayn says once more, staring at Harry intently, like if he looks hard enough then he’ll find the answer to what he’s looking for.

Please remember me this time. Please remember me. Please. Please. Please.

“Huh,” Zayn says at last, shaking his head. “You must have one of those faces.”

Harry swallows and nods, doing his best to smile as genuinely as he can. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Zayn stretches his hand out and Harry takes it, wrapping his fingers around Zayn’s. It’s almost like his body sags in relief at the contact, but Harry feels disappointed. He shouldn’t be. He should know better than that. After all this time he should know that this is how it works sometimes. Sometimes Zayn doesn’t remember. It’s fine; at least he’s here.

+++

The first time Harry remembers meeting Zayn, he’s blond and he doesn’t love him back.

It’s a story that’s been told a thousand times, falling in love with a stranger who doesn’t know you exist. Harry’s a fan. Nothing more. Nothing less. Harry’s just a fan, one fan among many thousands that are screaming Zayn’s name. Harry’s a face in the crowd that Zayn can’t tell one from the next.

Except Harry’s not just any face in the crowd. He works on Zayn’s team. He’s with him through everything, the ups and downs of his career. And okay. Harry might be exaggerating a little bit. He’s not that important, but he is on his team. His stylist’s assistant.

It’s not his dream job, but it’s where he falls in love with Zayn.

“I don’t like the black,” Zayn says, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s too much.”

“You asked for the black, though,” Harry reminds him, making a note of Zayn’s distaste on the inventory sheet. “I have written that you thought the navy was atrocious and black would be better.”

“It just—Something’s missing. I can’t figure it out.”

“What about accessories?” Harry suggests. Zayn turns and gives him a look that definitely says that accessories aren’t the problem. “We could do a gold belt.”

“No.”

“No, hear me out. It’ll work, I promise.”

Zayn looks at him, his eyes dragging down Harry’s body, taking him in. Harry shudders at the attention, trying to hide the nervous energy that’s rolling off of him in waves, threatening to sweep him away. Zayn stares pointedly at Harry’s outfit and then says, “And I should trust you?”

Harry wants to tell him that he paid for them, but the last thing he needs is a decrease in income. A stylist’s assistant really doesn’t make as much as they ought to, for the job that they do. “It’s kind of my job,” Harry says. “It’d break up the black. It’s—you need a statement. It’s not enough to just wear black on black anymore. You need an edge. A gold belt is that edge.”

“This is a performance of a lifetime. I need everything to be the best it can be.”

“I know,” Harry sighs. Staff has been screaming about it for months. He knows how important this is for Zayn’s career but Harry would never, ever do anything to hurt Zayn’s career. It’s as important to him as it is Zayn. He wants Zayn to succeed. He wants Zayn to have everything he’s ever wanted. He wants Zayn to have him, but that’s not—It’ll happen. Harry knows it. It’s engraved in his bones, he can feel it. It’s embedded in his soul. Zayn has to— He can’t explain it. He just knows.

“You’re singing a ballad,” Harry says slowly, carefully. “You don’t want to overpower the song. Just—trust me. Okay? Simplicity is key.”

Zayn nods and stomps off. They’re not finished with inventory and Harry’s going to get a verbal lashing for not doing his job, but what can he do?

Weeks later the performance happens and Zayn listens to him. He stands on stage and sings his heart out, eyes closed as he clutches the microphone closer, his gold belt glinting in the spotlight. All eyes are on him. And once again Harry’s lost in a crowd, forgotten.

Afterwards Zayn thanks him, says the belt was an awesome idea and that he’s not sure why he was worried about it in the first place. Harry smiles wider than he has done in ages, clutching Zayn’s hand to tell him how marvelous the performance was.

Harry thinks this is it; this is the moment where everything changes.

It doesn’t.

Zayn goes home with a girl, a leggy brunette that captured his attention in the crowd. Harry thinks she has an album out. A movie? Something.

Zayn takes her home and winds up spending seven years with her. Harry watches it all, waiting, hoping, and praying that he’ll get his chance.

Harry doesn’t give up until their wedding, when Zayn appoints him best man and has him pick the tux out. He wears a gold belt and winks at Harry when he shows it off.

It feels like a punishment.

+++

Harry’s tired once the day is over, more exhausted than he’s been in ages. The kids listened to him as well as they’d listen to anyone, yellow tie be damned. He looked more like a fool than anything, the only person in the school besides Mr. Taylor to have on a tie.

He leaves twenty minutes after the kids do, after cleaning up the mess and packing up his things.

“Hey, newbie. How was the first day?”

Harry looks up from his desk to see Zayn standing at his door, an eager smile on his face, as Harry gets up, moving across the room. “Went as well as any first day,” Harry says, flicking off his classroom light and following Zayn down the hallway.

“Well, I didn’t hear any yelling, so I imagine that it went alright.”

“It was nice. The kids were great. They seem to love science, not so much math or history, but they really seemed excited to get started on science,” Harry tells him, shrugging. “I never liked science when I was a kid, it was so boring.”

“Maybe you just didn’t have the right teacher. Maybe it’s not science they’re excited about, maybe it’s you.”

Harry laughs, opening the exit door for Zayn. “I hardly think that’s the case.”

Zayn shrugs and then opens up the next. “I didn’t say it was factual, I just said it’s a possibility,” he clarifies, falling into step with Harry. Harry should ask where his car is, to find if they’re walking in the same direction, but he can’t seem to get the words to his filter out of his mind through his mouth. Instead he holds onto them and hopes that they’re going in the same direction. “So what do you think about Ashville? Is it everything that you imagined it would be? You can’t have moved in that long ago, I would have heard about you sooner than this morning.”

“It’s been a week, actually,” Harry says, frowning at the comment. Heard about him? What does that mean? “And it’s…nice. Everyone is nice.”

Zayn laughs at that, knocking his shoulder into Harry’s. “You’ll get to know everyone better soon.”

“I guess. It’s difficult moving into a new town when you don’t know anyone.” Except you. Or part of you, Harry thinks. He doesn’t know this Zayn, not as much as he’d like to think he does.

“Especially one as small as Ashville.”

“That’s one thing about it,” Harry agrees, nodding. He squints, sighing as they approach his car. “Does it ever stop feeling like you’re trapped?”

“Trapped? Already? You’ve barely been here.”

“I know; I just feel like I can’t leave. Like this is some kind of coven or something. It’s like, everyone will know about it.” It’s an odd thought to have so soon, he knows, but he’s heard stories about small towns. About how difficult it is to get out of them.

“They will,” Zayn says, stopping to lean against a car. It’s the one parked next to Harry’s. It must be his and Harry breathes a sigh of relief to know that they’re next to each other, that they can continue talking for as long as they want to. “And you can leave. It’ll just take you an hour to find anything interesting.”

“I moved from the city,” Harry explains. “Being there felt… It was freeing, to know that I could go anywhere that I wanted whenever I wanted. No one would know, I could go a step out my front door and no one would know who I am.”

“People around here would think you were trapped, confined,” Zayn says, dumping his bag on the trunk of his car so that he can fold his arms over his chest. “And they’d also think you were pretty lonely, wanting to step outside just to feel alone.”

“Not to feel alone.”

Zayn shrugs, turning to look back at the school. His jaw is sharp, a harsh line accented with stubble that leaves Harry envious. He’s never been able to grow his facial hair out like that; he’s never managed to get beyond the look of a teenager going through puberty. The kind of facial hair that people get mocked for, their peach fuzz they think is anything but rugged, to rival every lumberjack stereotype.

“Maybe not intentionally, but that’s what you feel. I moved from the city too, you know. I know what’s it’s like to be surrounded by millions and still feel like you have absolutely no one.” He turns back to look at Harry, eyes boring into Harry’s. “Just give it a chance, okay? I think you’ll be surprised by it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry promises. He’s already beginning to notice perks about it. Well, one perk. But that still counts.

+++

They stumble onto the bed together, gasping for air as they land with a thud. It’s the third night this week that Zayn’s slept in his room, slept with his stomach against Harry’s back, keeping him warm through the harsh winter nights.

Both of them are too tired to start a fire. It takes time and patience and energy, something neither of them have. Namely the energy. It sounds like an awful task to lug wood into the fireplace. It sounds worse when Harry remembers that they have to light it.

But this is fine. Layering their clothes and holding each other close. This is better than a fire, better than any fires that Harry’s ever been around.

“Your nose is pink,” Zayn whispers, his breath warm on Harry’s cheek. “And you’re shaking.”

“It’s freezing,” Harry mutters, annunciating his point with his chattering teeth. “But you’ll warm me up. My personal heat source, always so warm.” Harry sighs as he shoves his face into Zayn’s throat, rubbing his cold, pink nose against Zayn’s skin.

“What if you’re getting ill?”

“Then you’ll cure me. You’ll fix me.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Then we’ll call a doctor and he’ll do it,” Harry assures him, pulling away to look at Zayn. He knows he worries, ever since the outbreak happened down the road. But Zayn and Harry, they don’t associate with them. And it’s just a little illness. Harry hasn’t heard much about it, other than about the shakes and the fever and the delusions. No one’s died, so it can’t be that bad. “And what if you get ill?”

“You’ll leave me here, let me wallow in my own misery.”

“I’ll call the doctor. I’ll give him all of our savings and tell him if he doesn’t fix you then he’ll never leave. We’ll hold him prisoner. He’ll be our captive,” Harry says, laughing under his breath at Zayn’s expression. “Well, maybe I won’t throw away the savings on you.”

“Trade me for bread.”

“For someone to light the fire for us.”

“For a horse.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t want a horse. You know people treat them awfully.”

“We wouldn’t.” Zayn mutters, brushing the hair out of Harry’s eyes. “We’d treat the horse like it was our child. Except when we needed a ride into town, then—You can be gentle with them, you know.”

“I know,” Harry sighs, his eyes slipping closed. “What if we got a goat instead?”

“What on earth would we do with a goat?”

“They’d be fun, wouldn’t you think?”

“I think the cold has taken away your sensibilities,” Zayn laughs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Sleep, my love. Sleep. I’ll keep you warm.”

Harry hums and nods, puckering out his lips until he feels Zayn’s on his own.

They make it through the winter fine, no captive, no horse, and no goat. But Zayn loves him, and Harry thinks that’s the only thing that matters in this life. Zayn and Harry, the two of them together. Almost like—almost like it’s always been that way.

+++

The easiness Harry felt at the beginning of the week is beginning to wear off. His students are…nightmares. They’re absolute nightmares. Little emotional terrorists that are dead-set on trying to destroy him. And they will. Oh god, they will. Harry’s not strong enough to handle this. He’s just not.

They started off sweet, eager to learn and to absorb as much information that Harry could give them. They wanted to be in school. But that’s not the case. It’s amazing what can change in two days.

Now they no longer care about learning, no longer care if Harry’s going out of his mind trying to get them to calm down, to stop them from arguing and disobeying everything he’s telling them to do.

It’s currently their music lesson so Harry’s getting a break. A much needed and well-deserved break. He’s earned this. He’s earned it and no one is going to deprive him of sitting in the staff room with his head resting on the table, imagining a world where eight year olds respect authority. Or him at least, screw authority.

“Oh boy,” says a voice and it’s Zayn. Of course it’s Zayn. A staff of twenty and it’s Zayn. “Head up. Harry, head up.”

Harry lifts his head obediently, looking at Zayn. “Yeah. Hi.”

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks, moving across the room quickly to take the seat next to Harry. He rests his hand on Harry’s arm and that’s nice. That’s—Harry squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in deeply, holding the air in his lungs and letting it out slowly. “You’re gonna have to talk to me.”

“I think my class is out to kill me.” Zayn laughs but immediately stops when Harry turns to glare at him. “I’m being serious. I’m worried about my life. I think there’s a hit out on me.”

“People don’t hire eight year olds as hitmen, Harry.”

“Why not? It’d be extremely effective.”

“Alright, well why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your classroom full of little assassins.”

Harry sighs and shakes his head. Where does he start? “They don’t listen. Not a single one of them. Well, Jackson does, but that’s because he wants to learn. His little hand is in the air, even when he doesn’t know the answer. And believe me, that’s more often than when he knows it,” Harry says, nodding seriously. “But the rest of them,” he shakes his head once more, “no. They don’t care anymore. And they don’t listen, have I mentioned that? They sit in the back of the class and argue with each other. I—I don’t want to yell at them. But my god, they don’t listen, Zayn.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“Well…good.” Harry nods firmly, glad that Zayn understands that part. “I just—I can’t figure out how to make them listen. I feel like I’m standing in a glass tank, separated from everyone else but screaming for them to help me. Only no one hears me. But in this case they just don’t care to hear me.”

“Harry,” Zayn says, scooting his chair closer and squeezing his arm a little tighter. “You’re in charge. You’re in control of that classroom, not them. And they can sense when they’re getting to you, so don’t let them win.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Be firm with them. Start changing their seats; move them away from other people. Come up with some kind of punishment system, make them write sentences, take away recess time,” Zayn suggests. “You’ll feel awful about it, but do it a couple times and they’ll figure out you’re serious, they’ll figure out that you mean it when you tell them to knock it off.”

Harry nods. It sounds easy enough.

“You can do this.”

Harry breathes out a laugh, smiling as he turns to look at Zayn, grateful. He’s still scared, still stressed, and still ready to throw in the towel but he’s grateful that he’s here. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn mutters, waving him off. The action causes him to let go of Harry’s arm and Harry frowns at the loss of contact. “I teach kindergarten, remember? I know all about classrooms being filled with—”

“Emotional terrorists.”

“I wasn’t going to call them that,” Zayn laughs, resting his elbow on the table. “I was going to say, kids with selective hearing.”

“That’s being overly generous with them.”

“They’re five.”

“Still. They might’ve been hired to…take care of you, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can take care of myself against a five year old, isn’t it?” Zayn says, standing up. He pats Harry on the shoulder. “Come on, next class is about to start and you’ve got—”

“Emotional terrorists.”

“Kids to take care of.”

Harry smiles and walks with Zayn out of the staff room, towards the elementary hallway. “Thanks for the pep talk, I really do appreciate it.”

“Like I said before, don’t worry about it, Harry. I know what it’s like to be new.” Harry raises an eyebrow and Zayn smiles, turning around to walk backwards so he can see Harry as he moves towards his own classroom further down the hall. “I’ll have to tell you about it another time. Good luck.”

Harry waves, watching as Zayn turns on his heel and then disappears. He sighs as he watches him go, readying himself for an afternoon of hell with his little hitmen.

+++

There’s a boy.

He’s out of focus at first, blurry as he stands in the background. Harry blinks; shifting his eyes into focus and watches the other boy laugh. He’s with someone else but they’re blurry, distorted, out of focus to the point that there’s nothing Harry can do for him, no matter how hard he tries.

Harry wants to apologize to him but his feet are leading him forward, leading him to the laughing boy. He looks at Harry, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. He mutters something to his blurry friend; the figure moves and then disappears entirely.

“You’re late,” the boy says, looking at Harry through his lashes. Zayn. How did he know that? He’s not sure, but he knows it. He always knows it.

“I had to sneak out.”

“Your father doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” Harry shakes his head and Zayn grabs his hand pulls him along. It feels like he’s gliding, like he has no control of his feet along this floor but he follows anyway, weaving through blurry figure after figure.

“I thought you said that you were going to talk to him,” Zayn says when they’re alone, pressed against each other in another room, away from the blurry, faceless people. “Harry, I thought—” Zayn shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. Harry doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it at all.

“I will. I am. I plan on it,” Harry finds himself saying. “It’s not as easy as you’d think it would be. You know what my father’s like.”

“It just feels like…like you’re putting this off.”

“I’m not.”

“Is it because I’m—”

“No,” Harry says, loud and firm. He doesn’t know what Zayn’s going to say but he knows that it has nothing to do with him. Nothing. “It’s not you. It’s him. I have to be careful with how I tell him. I don’t want—I want things to be alright. That’s all I want.”

Zayn nods, looking down at his hand clasped with Harry’s. “And he has no idea that you’re here, that you’re with me?”

“None. My mother and him both think that I’m in bed.”

“Well, then I guess we better make it worth your while.” Zayn grins at him and it’s wicked and exciting, enchanting. Harry’s mesmerized by it. “Drink up,” Zayn says, grabbing an orange cup out of a pile next to him, a pile that wasn’t there a few moments ago. Or maybe it was and Harry just didn’t notice, too focused on Zayn to notice. He grabs his own drink, his cup green and presses it to his lips, downing it quickly.

Harry follows suit but he can’t taste it. He can’t feel it on his tongue, but he can feel Zayn, can feel the jolt of electricity through his body every time that Zayn brushes against him.

He has another drink after that, a purple cup and then a red and then another orange until he feels lighter, until Zayn is giggling madly and pressing closer to Harry. His arms wrap around him, their hips pressing together as they move to music that Harry can’t hear.

They dance for ages. They dance until everything changes, until Zayn’s gasping beneath him, fingers digging into Harry’s back. He can feel a spike of pleasure below his gut and he’s—they’re-- But how? Harry doesn’t remember. He can’t focus. Everything feels like it’s too much at once until Zayn’s tugging him down and kissing him, gasping into his mouth and begging for something.

Harry jolts awake, panting and sweating. He looks around the darkness, breathing harshly as his mind comes into focus. It was a dream, just another dream.

It had felt so real. But then again, all of them do. All of them making him feel like he’s waking up from something that once was, from something he used to have. Because deep down, deep in his core, that boy, that Zayn, he’s someone to Harry. Maybe even everything to him.

Harry dreams about Zayn most nights. And when he doesn’t, he wakes up longing for him, in a crippling sense of grief that he’s not there. He doesn’t feel whole. He feels broken and hollow, like he’s lost something.

But Zayn doesn’t exist. Harry’s tried finding him. He’s searched everywhere for him. All of the human records say that Zayn Malik doesn’t exist.

So he doesn’t exist and Harry dreams about him, but it has to mean something.

When Harry calms down, he lies back down in his bed, hands clasped over his stomach as he drifts off.

Zayn’s waiting for him.

+++

Zayn’s advice works better than Harry expected it to. Which doesn’t say a lot, because it was fairly practical advice, but Harry’s grateful for it nonetheless. By the end of the week his students are listening, they’re engaged, and they’re paying attention more to him than they are each other. He owes it all to Zayn.

Harry finds Zayn at his desk after school Friday evening, cleaning scattered markers and humming under his breath. He takes a moment to appreciate him, to take him all in. There’s an air of confidence about Zayn, maybe because this is his zone, his territory, and inside these four brick walls nothing can penetrate him. Harry likes seeing him like this, so sure of himself.

Zayn’s humming turns to dancing and as soon as he starts shaking his hips, moving along the classroom, Harry makes his presence known. He clears his throat and Zayn spins, nearly falling over himself as he tries to figure out where the noise came from.

“Oh god. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that you can work it,” jokes Harry, grinning as Zayn’s cheeks stain pink in embarrassment. “I give the performance a solid ten. Best I’ve seen tonight.”

“You’re hereby banned from my classroom,” laughs Zayn, shaking his head as he tosses the markers into a bin in the back. “But I’m glad to know you enjoyed it.”

“You were spectacular.”

Zayn laughs once more, rubbing at his heated cheeks. “Is that what you came here for? Or was there something else? Because I’ll have you know, I don’t put on a show for just anyone.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Harry mumbles, stepping into the classroom and holding out the bag in his hand. “I brought you a gift. A thank you present for helping me out earlier this week.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zayn says, taking the bag from Harry. His fingers graze the bits of tissue paper sticking out of it, a smile on his face. “Harry, this is totally unnecessary.”

“So was you taking the time out to help me, but you did it anyway. So just open it.”

“Alright.” Zayn’s smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, digging into the bag greedily. Harry knows the exact moment he really gets a look at it, because Zayn starts laughing, free hand clutching his stomach as he pulls the golden apple out of the bag. “World’s greatest teacher, huh?”

“It was either an apple or a piggy bank. But what’s more teacher than getting an apple, right?”

“I’ve actually never gotten one before,” Zayn says, smiling at the apple as he finds a place for it on his desk. He sets it next to his computer, turning it so that way the words are facing him whenever he’s sitting at his desk. “I’ve also never been called the world’s greatest teacher.”

“Well, I’m honored to be the first.”

Zayn stares the apple for a moment longer, his thumb stroking the ceramic. “I’m glad your week has gone better for you, Harry,” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away from the gift. “I really am.”

“It’s perfect, you know. They’re still eight year olds, but they’ve been listening. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“No, that would be thanks to you. I’m the brains and you’re the brawn of that operation.”

“Well, we’ll call it a group effort.”

“Good effort it is, then,” Zayn says with a smile, moving around the room to collect his things so that he can head home. Harry feels a little bad, like he might have taken Zayn away from something. Or someone. Harry’s stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought and he frowns, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches Zayn. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to head home for the night.”

“You don’t have any big plans?”

Harry shrugs and then shakes his head. “Kind of hard to have plans when you don’t know anyone,” he admits. Except for you. I know you. Well, parts of you. Maybe not this part, though, Harry thinks.

“Perks of a small town,” Zayn mumbles, smiling at Harry in a way that says, what can you do.

“I’m sure it’ll get better. Once I’ve been here a little longer, I guess. What about you? Do you have any Friday night plans?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. I’ve got to get home to my boys, though.”

Harry fumbles, tripping over his feet. “Wait. You have—Boys? You have kids?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, like he’s telling Harry the weather and not dropping a revelation that Harry’s never had to deal with before. Zayn’s never had kids. “I’m a proud doggy daddy.”

“Dog—Wait. So you don’t actually have kids?”

“I have kids. They count,” Zayn tells him and when Harry laughs he shoves at him, trying to glare at Harry. “You obviously don’t have any pets, otherwise you’d understand.”

“I do, I have a cat. But I don’t tell people he’s my son when they ask if I have kids.”

Zayn shrugs unapologetically. “Well, I do.”

“I know that now, thanks,” Harry says, shaking his head as he falls into step alongside Zayn. “So what are you and the boys going to do tonight?”

“Nothing, probably. Hey, why don’t we go out?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, there’s a place in town that we can go to. It’s like, one of two places we can go to actually, so I’m sure you’ll be surprised when we walk inside.”

“This sounds ominous.”

Zayn grins wickedly at him. “I’ll meet you on the corner of First and Main at seven, okay?”

+++

Zayn takes him to a pizzeria, one of two restaurants in town. It’s small and nice enough. The tables are covered in red and white checkered cloth, the kind with the weird plastic layer on top that make it easier to clean. It’s not the best place that Harry’s ever been, but it smells like cheese and beer and something about the combination settles his nerves, helping to make him relax. It’s loud and vibrant, crowded with people and it’s nice. It makes Harry think he’s back home, back in the city.

“Zayn, now how come I haven’t seen you here in ages?”

“I came in the other week.”

Harry looks up from the menu he didn’t need to see Zayn talking with an older woman, white hair pulled up high and out of her face, wearing a red apron and a playful expression.

“So you skipped my night, huh?”

“You know I like playing hard to get,” Zayn says, winking at her. She laughs and Harry bites down on his lip to keep from laughing with her. “This is Harry, he just moved here.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who took the old Nichols’ house?”

“I guess,” Harry mumbles, shrugging. “I don't know much about the people who lived there before me.”

“Well, it’s gotta be you, sweetie. No one else has sold their house recently,” she says, flipping open a pad of paper. “So what do you boys wants? Do you know?”

“Surprise us with the special,” Zayn says, taking the menu from Harry and passing it along. “And get him something to drink, he had a rough week.”

“Thank you,” Harry mutters, the woman already walking away. “She your girlfriend or something?”

Zayn snorts, choking on the water they were given when they walked in. He shakes his head, patting his chest. “No. Rosie and I are just—I come here a lot, I guess. She’s one of the first people that I met when I moved here. She lives down the street from me, and she’d turn up to my place with leftover casseroles to feed me since she thinks I don’t know how to do it myself. She’s nice, an absolute angel, but she’s a terrible flirt.”

“Yeah, I saw your ears go pink. I thought maybe you had a thing for her,” Harry teases and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Her husband, the lovely gentleman behind the counter over there shouting about how pizza is ready, probably wouldn’t be too keen to hear that.”

“Oh god, I didn’t realize you had competition,” Harry says, turning around in his chair to look at the guy in question. He’s older, much like his wife, and while he’s standing in the back, Harry’s not sure he does anything besides shout about how the food is cooked. “I think you could take him.”

“That’s good to hear, especially since I only brought you here as a distraction.”

“A distraction?”

“Yeah, you go back there and talk to him while I sneak out the front doors with his wife. Oh hi, Rosie,” Zayn says, plastering a smile on his face as the woman approaches once more, setting down a couple of beers on the table.

“Zayn was just talking about you,” Harry says.

“Singing my praises?” She asks.

“Always,” Zayn confirms and she winks at him, pinching his cheek before she walks away. “You’re the worst distraction.”

Harry grins, sitting up a little straighter as he grabs his drink. “Actually, I’m not,” he says. It’s been hard to ignore, the way that everyone around them has been staring at him, unable to take their eyes away from him. He had thought it would go away the longer they’ve been here, but that doesn’t seem to the case. “Everyone’s staring at us.”

Zayn looks around and shrugs, seemingly unconcerned with it. “The thing about living in a small town, Harry, is that everyone knows your business. By tomorrow morning everyone will be talking about how you, the new guy, and I are out together.”

“Great,” Harry mumbles, breathing out harshly in annoyance.

“You’ll just have to wait for something else to happen. And it will. Mrs. Travers, an elderly woman with dementia is known for breaking out of her daughter’s house and wreaking havoc on the kids, so I’m sure you’ll be upstaged soon.”

“It’s just weird being on display like this. I mean, obviously I’m not. But like, it feels like it with everyone looking at us.”

“They’ll stop,” Zayn says. “Trust me. I used to be the new guy too.”

Harry nods and grabs his drink, bringing the bottle to his lips. There’s less people looking at them now, with the exception of the people walking in the door, probably wondering who he is and where he came from and why he’s here with Zayn. Harry figures it might not be so bad, considering it’s his first outing in his new town that doesn’t involve going to work or going from moving truck to house.

“How long ago did you move here?” Harry asks, unable to hide his curiosity at wanting to know more about Zayn, about this Zayn.

Zayn frowns at the question, his brow furrowed as he rubs at the condensation on his beer. “I moved here about three years ago, almost four. That’s when I was the new guy, the city kid that moved to a small town,” Zayn says, shrugging as he looks up at Harry instead of at the bottle. “I had just broken off an engagement to a girl I had been with for three years.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry says, he’s frowning but part of him wants to laugh. Not because Zayn had to go through that or because he used to be hurting, but because the story is familiar.

“Don’t be. It was years ago. We were young and—you know how it is, thinking you can take over the world together.”

“What happened?”

“I got a job here. I wanted to leave the city so badly; it was just too much for me. It didn’t feel like home and I wasn’t happy there, ya know? So I applied to schools further away, just to see if any of them would get me the fuck out of the city.”

“And Ashville did that?”

“And Ashville did that,” Zayn says, nodding. “Anyway, when I got the job I knew that I had to leave, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a fresh start would be better. In all ways.”

Harry nods, able to fill in the gaps of the explanation that Zayn has left open for him. It’s not that hard to do, to know that Zayn broke up with the girl so that he could find his happiness, wherever that was. It seems like he found it here in Ashville, in this small town that Harry’s still trying to adjust to.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath as Rosie approaches their table with their pizzas. She drops napkins down as well before she runs off, shouting something back at her husband as he tells her more pizzas are finished.

“I mean what brings you to Ashville, Harry?”

“I used to be a lawyer,” Harry says. “Or well, I was almost a lawyer, almost finished with law school and working at a law firm.”

“Lawyer to third grade teacher. Wow, that’s quite the change.”

“Yeah, that’s what my mom said when I called to tell her I quit my job and was going for my certification.”

“And what would make you want a change like that?”

“My boyfriend of two years broke up with me. I guess it’s sort of cliché. I wasn’t happy with where I was in life, at school, in my job, and I guess that transferred over to my relationship because he packed his bags and I haven’t seen him in two years.”

“So two guys whose long-term relationships were over that decided to move to a small town,” Zayn says, lifting up his beer. He nods his head, motioning for Harry to lift up his own. “To them.”

They clink their bottles together and Harry laughs, because he can toast to that.

+++

“I think you have to carry me to my car,” Zayn whines, leaning his body against Harry’s. Harry accepts the extra weight, throwing his arm around Zayn’s shoulders and pulling him close, helping to drag him down the street to where their cars are parked.

“I told you not to eat all of your pizza.”

“You did. But I saw the challenge in your eyes when you ate your fifth slice.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “My fifth and my last. You don’t see me with a food baby, do you?”

Zayn pokes Harry’s stomach, first under his ribs and then again in the middle, right beneath his belly button. He grins at Harry as he does it, one finger turning into a splayed hand, rubbing at Harry’s stomach. “You’re right, no food baby. But I don’t have one either. I might have a food coma, though.”

“Are you safe to drive home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” Zayn says, pulling away from Harry. He keeps an arm around his waist, lifting his head off Harry’s shoulder.

“Good, because I would have taken your keys and made you walk.” Zayn looks offended and Harry sniffs, rubbing at his nose in indifference. “Can’t have you falling asleep behind the wheel, I’m sure Rosie would have picked you up.”

“You’re awful.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who chose to spend your Friday night with me.”

“I did.” Zayn nods, shrugging. “But I had a good time.”

Zayn’s smiling at him and Harry’s heart flutters, and if it were any other time he would call a doctor, let them know that something’s wrong with him, with his heart. But there’s nothing wrong with him, not medically anyway; there’s nothing that a doctor would be able to find or any sort of machine because his body isn’t responding to any anomaly. It’s just Zayn, just the way that he makes Harry feel and the way he’s always made Harry feel, for as long as the Earth’s been spinning.

“That’s my car,” Zayn says, frowning as he says it. “I guess this is where we part ways, huh?”

“Guess so,” Harry says, shoving his hands into his pockets as Zayn steps away from him, fiddling with his keys.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone. Give it to me.”

Harry obeys and passes his phone along, watching as Zayn unlocks it and dials a number. There’s a ringing sound coming from Zayn’s pocket and Harry finally realizes what’s happening.

“So now you’ve got my number,” he says, passing Harry his phone back. “Use it, alright? Call me if you get lonely. I know what it’s like to leave home and move to place where you don’t know anyone but everyone knows everyone, as you found out tonight, so don’t be afraid to use that number.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. He crosses his heart when Zayn gives him a look, holding up his hand in a sort of promise, one that he definitely intends on keeping.

+++

Harry feels like he’s floating on a cloud when he drops into bed that night. He feels like he’s won the lottery or discovered the secrets of the Earth. There’s no other way to describe it, the swirling, dizzying happiness fluttering around inside of him.

It’s such a simple thing to be so happy about, to go out to a pizzeria after a long week with a boy. But it feels like so much more than that. It is so much more than that, so much more than just dinner between colleagues and potential friends.

Harry pulls out his phone and stares at the new entry. Bongo mewls next to his head, shoving his paw into Harry’s face.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, turning down the brightness so that he can be creepy without disturbing his cat.

It’s not creepy. It’s normal. Harry’s not the first person to stare at a name in their phone and he won’t be the last. Okay. It’s a little creepy, so Harry clicks the name and opens a new message, thumb moving across the screen as he thinks of what to write.

He settles on something simple, something that doesn’t tell Zayn he’s been staring at his name while he lies in bed instead of sleeping like his cat.

I had a great time tonight, he types. He stares at the text for a moment before he hits send, tucking his phone under his pillow and closing his eyes.

+++

“Harry,” Zayn whines, his voice high and there’s—Harry thinks he might be scared. “I don’t think we should be out here.” Definitely scared. “We promised your parents that we’d leave the creek alone.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I crossed my fingers,” he tells him, because he did. He pauses for a moment, turning on the rock to look at Zayn properly. “And you promised not to be a baby this time.”

“I’m not a baby,” Zayn protests, glaring at Harry as he jumps onto the next rock, almost to prove his point. He loses his footing for a moment, his eyes wide with panic until he catches himself, and then he’s glaring again, almost as if to say, ‘see, I can do this too.’

“If you’re not a baby then come on,” Harry encourages, waving Zayn on. He watches as he jumps onto the next rock and then Harry moves too, jumping from stone to stone, trying to keep his balance with every leap.

They’re at the creek in the woods, a place they promised both their parents that they’d avoid. But it’s not dangerous. And they don’t do anything that could cause them to get hurt. Well, jumping wet rocks might get them hurt if they fall, but they don’t. They’re careful. Honestly, Harry’s not sure what the fuss is about. Zayn used to love it, until the snotty nosed brat up the street tattled on them because they wouldn’t let him come along.

Harry reaches the edge and stops, crouching to kneel at the bank. He waits for Zayn to catch up, watching the minnows for a moment, their silver gills glinting in the sunlight.

“What do you think life would be like as a fish?” Harry asks, head tilted as he tries to imagine it. Would his fingers still prune?

“Boring,” Zayn says with a huff, voice strained as he makes the final leap from rock to land. “All they do is swim, never stopping. And food is hard to find, I’d bet. I wouldn’t like it.”

“You wouldn’t be afraid of water.”

“Or I would, and my entire life would be miserable.”

Harry laughs, tilting his head further, turning it to look at Zayn. “Do you think we’d be best friends as fish?”

Zayn looks thoughtful for a moment, staring at the minnows beneath the surface. They’re in a large group, swimming in circles around each other. Harry thinks being a fish wouldn’t be so bad, it could be worse, as far as living as an animal goes.

“I think we’d be best friends no matter what.”

“Even as fish?”

“Especially as fish.”

“What about—Okay. What if we were tadpoles?”

Zayn shrugs. “I said no matter what. But we wouldn’t be able to talk to each other if we were tadpoles, I think that’d get boring.”

“It’d be nice, I wouldn’t have to hear your voice anymore,” Harry jokes, barking out a laugh when Zayn glares at him. “But we’d find other ways to talk. Like bubbles. We could blow bubbles and they’d be our words.”

“How would I know what you’re saying?”

“You’d know,” Harry says. He had a dream once that they were tigers, running through the jungle together. Harry read once that tigers hunt alone, so it doesn’t make sense, not really. But it’s a dream, so it doesn’t have to. But in his dream they could communicate, through touch, through sounds. Harry would roar to voice his displeasure and Zayn would rub their necks together to soothe him. “Come on, let’s go.”

Zayn nods and stands, grinning at Harry before he says. “Race you.” He sprints before the words are out of his mouth and Harry shouts out in protest as he rushes after him.

+++

One of the perks of living in a small town, Harry finds, is that the grocery store isn’t packed with people at any given moment. Sure there are people, and yeah, it’s a little crowded, but Harry’s seen worse. And it’s nice to be able to walk down an aisle by himself and actually browse.

His cabinets are relatively bare at home, having not had time to sit down and actually buy what it takes to fill them besides a few things, like cat food and coffee and milk and sugar, a variety of breakfast foods, and a few other oddities.

He spent the morning writing a list, making sure to write down everything that he’ll know he’ll need eventually, things that he can keep in the cabinets and use whenever he pleases like spices and flour, along with different meats and pasta noodles and snacks. It’s nice to be prepared. And it’s going to be even nicer to actually have food in the house.

There’s a familiar figure walking down the aisle in the opposite direction and Harry primps himself, fluffing his hair and smoothing out his shirt. It’s wrinkled and old, stretched around the collar with holes everywhere from wearing it too much. Fuck, he knew that he should have tried to look decent when he left the house this morning. He knew, maybe not fully, but subconsciously he did. Definitely.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Zayn says, grinning at him like he actually is happy to see Harry again, even though they saw each other less than a day ago.

“Yeah. I’d ask what you’re doing here but it’s fairly obvious,” Harry says. “And I’d also like to say something about how weird it is to bump into you, but this town only has one store, so I guess I can’t say that either.”

Zayn laughs at that, shrugging. “Well, you could say them. I wouldn’t correct you on either of them.”

“Oh, well in that case, how odd to bump into you here at Ashville Grocers.”

“Who would have thought when you left the house this morning that you’d bump into me.”

“I would have hoped, at the very least.”

Zayn bites down on his lip, his cheeks pinking up at that. Harry grins wider, because yeah, that’s nice. He did that.

“Did you know that we’re the talk of the town?” Zayn tells him, resting his elbow on the handle of his cart.

“Are we?” Harry asks because no, he didn’t know that. He has no idea what anyone in this town talks about, let alone if it involves him.

“Yeah, I woke up this morning to my neighbor knocking on my door, she wanted to know if it was true that we spent the night in a hotel together.”

“Wow,” Harry mutters, scratching at the back of his neck. He definitely had no idea about that, that people are lying about what happened. There were witnesses for the entire evening. People watching them in the pizzeria and people watching them as they walked down the street. Harry’s almost positive he saw the woman in the house across the street watching him as he walked in the door last night. “False word travels fast.”

“It does,” Zayn agrees, nodding. “This is my first time ever being involved in a rumor before. Who knew you’d tarnish my reputation.”

“Well, I guess I should tell you that I started that rumor.”

Zayn barks out a laugh and Harry relishes in it, wanting to wrap himself up in the sound like a blanket and stay there forever.

“I guess you really are out to ruin me,” Zayn says.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Zayn smiles, eyes trailing along Harry’s body in a way that’s far more suggestive than it is innocent. “I hope to find out,” he mutters. He stands up properly after that, giving Harry one more once over. “I should get going though. I need to grab food for my boys. We ran out last night and I don’t want them to be angry with me later.”

“Of course, yeah. You wouldn’t want to upset the kids, would you?”

“Watch it, Styles,” Zayn warns, walking away. Harry watches him go, appreciating the view that the other boy offers. He’s all broad shoulders, slim hips and no ass. It’s an odd combination but it’s also so fucking marvelous that Harry can hardly tear his eyes away from it. Zayn must be able to sense Harry’s eyes on him before he glances back, looking over at his shoulder with a smile. Harry jumps, waving at him quickly before he grabs his cart and hurries off, heat rising from his neck to his cheeks at being caught.

+++

The room is dark and dank. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a warehouse somewhere. Whoever brought him here didn’t bother trying to throw him off with their driving; there was no driving for longer than necessary, no taking turn after turn after turn. Harry suspects that they drove straight to the location. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it was Victor who brought him here. It might not have been Victor that put the bag over his head or Victor who threw him in a trunk of a car or Victor who bloodied his lip, but it was Victor who made the call.

Harry knows he pissed the guy off when he gave the command. Zayn had said it was a bad idea, said that they shouldn’t steal from the most powerful man in the city. But Harry enjoys testing his luck. He enjoys pushing the limits.

A dim light is flicked on and it’s accompanied by a buzzing noise, the lights coming to life. Harry has to blink his eyes to adjust to the light, but finds that difficult. One of his eyes is swollen shut. There go his good looks.

“Mr. Styles, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I don’t know; why don’t you tell me?” Harry says. He does his best to smile, to hide the grimace as he feels a spike of pain in his cheek. His entire body is throbbing from the blows he took earlier, from the knees in his stomach to the fists in his face. Everything hurts, but he refuses, fucking refuses to let this guy see it. “Judging by the…warm welcome I received earlier—”

“Yes, sorry about that,” Victor says, motioning to one of his cronies to drop a bag down on a table. “But you have something of mine.”

“I don’t think I do.”

Victor’s lip curls slightly before his expression goes back to indifference. He laughs lightly, shaking his head as he opens the bag. Harry doesn’t care to watch him, instead he glances around, the lights overhead finally bright enough that he can see further than a few feet away.

They’re at the packaging plant across town, the one along the river. Harry can’t remember what they do here. Zayn would know. Zayn keeps better tabs on people than Harry does. He’s the brain of it all; Harry’s just the guy who calls the shots.

“I didn’t want to believe it was you who’d broken into my house, Harry. I didn’t want to think it was you. But the tapes don’t lie,” he says, shaking his head as he pulls a knife out of his bag. “Did you know about the security cameras?”

Harry knew about them. He just didn’t care. “You’d be a fool not to have security on your house.”

“You can imagine my surprise when I saw you on them. You and that…boy of yours.”

“Can’t imagine what we were doing.”

Victor’s eyes flash, dark and fierce and dangerous. “No. I’m sure you can’t.” He steps closer to Harry, dragging the blade of the knife down his arm. It’s as gentle as he can be, leaving no marks. “I told my men to grab your boy, to bring him in. I knew you wouldn’t talk, not unless you thought his life depended on it. And it does, Harry. Believe me it does.”

Harry clenches his jaw, staring at Victor.

“Leave us alone.”

“Sir—”

“I said, leave us alone,” Victor repeats, his eyes trained on Harry’s as the other guy rushes to leave the room, closing the door behind him. “Now tell me, Harry. What did you do with the papers you found?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh Harry, you know as well as I do that I’m not the man to cross.”

There’s a flash of movement behind them and Harry breathes out, wanting to know what it was. Victor’s staring at him, knife still pressed against his skin.

“I don’t really know that,” Harry says, glancing around like he’s indifferent to this conversation. It’s the only way that he’s going to find out what’s lurking in the back. “I think that you need me. And you need me alive. I have what you want.”

“But you’re not the only one.”

Harry laughs, loud and harsh. “You’re more of a fucking idiot than I thought if you think that I’d tell Zayn what I was doing with them or where they are. You’re a fucking fool; he doesn’t know anything. He knows what they are and he knows what to tell the people that we’re selling them to, but he doesn’t know where they are.”

Victor’s jaw tightens as he tries to control his anger. Harry rolls his eyes and then looks away, feigning indifference. He sees a flash of movement again and tries not to focus on it. But then he sees him, his knight in shining armor. Zayn’s moving slowly through the warehouse, gun in hand. Harry’s never been as happy to see him.

“So then you’ll take me to it.”

“Will I?” Harry asks, turning back to look at Victor. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because we’ll kill him. Slow and painful. We’ll make you fucking watch,” Victor shouts. And then the barrel of Zayn’s gun collides with the side of his head as he rushes forward. He’s passed out on the floor, lying at Harry’s feet.

“God I hate him,” Zayn mutters, setting the gun on Harry’s lap.

“Took you long enough.”

Zayn looks at him, brow cocked, like he’s waiting for Harry to say something else. Harry only smiles at him, wincing when he feels a flare of pain in his face. “You look like shit,” Zayn says, moving to slice the ties binding Harry to the chair.

“I missed you too, darling,” Harry says.

Zayn’s good at that, freeing Harry when he’s captured by one of the many people that hate them. It’s the perk of being a thief, getting on the bad side of politicians, criminals, powerful people that don’t want their…indiscretions and illegal activity getting out.

Harry’s out of his binds in a matter of seconds and Zayn grabs the gun, tucking it into his pants as he helps Harry stand. He looks upset for a moment, frowning at Harry’s figure.

“You look awful.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeats. He cups Zayn’s face and kisses him softly, mindful of his busted lip. “And we don’t have time for this. You can scold me on the road. Okay?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Zayn says, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist to help him walk. “I fucking told you that this was a bad idea.”

“We have probably a minute or two before they realize that he’s no longer talking, or until he wakes up. Can you yell at me in the car?” Harry asks, wincing as he puts more weight on his leg. Maybe he’s more hurt than he originally thought. He can’t really remember being grabbed or what happened to him entirely.

“I’m going to yell at you in the car and I’m going to yell at you wherever we’re going. Please tell me you know where we’re going?”

“I’ll think of somewhere,” Harry says and Zayn sighs, shaking his head.

+++

Red ink. Red ink everywhere. Harry has no idea how so many of his students failed this math quiz, they went over this material so much. It’s burned a hole in his brain. Harry could recite his times tables by memory at this point, could probably string the equations together into a song.

Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe Harry could turn math into a song, maybe then it’ll help the kids to remember. Harry lifts up the quiz and jots the idea down on his notepad. Maybe he could get Mariah to help him; she’s always humming something under her breath. She’d probably like it.

“Hey what are you still doing here?”

Zayn’s leaning against the door, head cocked. Harry smiles at him, setting his pen down on his desk. “Just wanted to get some things graded.”

“You look tired.”

“That’s because I am,” Harry laughs, rubbing at his tired eyes. They ache from the harsh lighting of the school and from having to concentrate on the papers in front of him to make sure he doesn’t mark things wrong.

“Don’t stay too long,” Zayn says, smiling at him once more as he pushes off the door.

“I won’t,” Harry tells him, watching as Zayn nods. He looks at Harry for a moment longer, like he’s trying to read him. His eyes are squinted in thought and Harry frowns, wondering what’s on his mind.

Before he can ask Zayn’s gone.

He goes back to his papers, tapping the pen against his desk and trying not to groan in frustration when he sees that one of his students has written down 100 as the answer to ten times one. They went over this, transfer the zeros and then worry about the numbers. Harry breathes out, shaking his head as he marks it wrong. The worst part about the job is marking things wrong, telling kids that their effort was in vain. He wishes there was a way he could do this without all the red x’s.

The floor squeaks outside of the door and Harry looks up, alarmed, his heart hammering away in his chest. “Fuck,” he curses, clutching at his chest as he looks at Zayn. He’s smiling bashfully at him, embarrassed.

“Sorry, it was the shoes,” he says, pointing at them like they’ll give themselves away if Harry sees them.

“What are you doing back here? Did you forget something?”

“Yeah. Um, what are you doing tomorrow night?” Zayn asks, biting down on his plump bottom lip. Harry feels a flicker of jealousy that he can’t do that, that he’s not the one biting on Zayn’s lip.

He shakes his head, clearing out his throat. “Nothing. I’m not doing anything tomorrow, why?”

“You wanna come over?”

“To…to. Like, to your place?” Harry asks, looking around like his classroom will be able to give him the answer to that instead of Zayn.

“Yeah, to mine. I’ll make you dinner,” Zayn says and Harry nods. Because yeah. He’s totally free for that. He’s always free for dinner with Zayn.

+++

“So what do you think? Should I wear the green shirt with these fancy little yellow stripes along the sleeves or should I wear the white and black button up? It’s got short sleeves, so it’s casual. Dress casual, maybe? I don’t know. What do you think?”

Bongo blinks at him, his eyes slowly drifting shut with every blink. Harry shakes the shirts to get his attention, holding out one and then the other.

“I could really use the opinion, Bongo,” Harry says. “I know clothes aren’t your specialty, but it’d be really appreciated if you could just like, meow in the direction of one of them or something.”

Bongo does nothing. Of course he does, because he’s a cat and he doesn’t care that Harry is going to Zayn’s house for a date. Well, not a confirmed date but Harry knows that it’s a date. Zayn didn’t have to specify that for Harry to know that’s what is happening tonight between them. They’re dating. It’s a thing, whatever; Harry’s not going to freak out about it. Even though he wants to.

“Alright, how about this,” Harry says, lying both of the shirts down gently on the bed, “I’m going to leave these here and you can lie down on the one that you don’t want me to wear. I’m going to go and see if Zayn needs me to bring anything, then I’ll come back in here, so you don’t have long to make up your mind.”

He strokes behind Bongo’s ear as he passes him, rushing into the kitchen for his phone. There’s nothing there, obviously, but he types a quick message to Zayn.

Do I need to bring anything over tonight?

Harry waits, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and his forefinger. He peeks into the bedroom to see that Bongo is standing and good, good. He’s going to pick a shirt for Harry. If there’s one thing that his cat can’t resist it’s a clean shirt on his bed, which is exactly why Harry is going to wear the one that his cat doesn’t lie on. That way his shirt is still clean and he doesn’t have to wrestle his cat for it.

just urself ! i’ve got everything else

Are you sure?

positive ;)

Okay then. I’ll be there soon, just need to take care of something first.

can’t wait !!!

Three exclamation points… Wow. Okay. Harry really needs to get dressed.

Back in his bedroom Bongo has decided, lying down on the black and white button up. Harry thinks his cat might be partial, since he’s black and white as well, but that’s fine. The green will bring out his eyes.

“Thanks for helping, buddy,” Harry mumbles, leaning down to kiss the top of his cat’s head. “You’re the best.”

Bongo doesn’t seem to care so Harry kisses him once more and then rushes off to get dressed.

+++

The thing about small towns is that all of the streets are ordinal numbers – aside from Main Street, but every town needs a Main Street – so it’s easy for Harry to navigate. He lives on Second Street and the school is on Fifth Street. But Harry finds that not all of the streets are ordinal numbers, some of them are named after trees, like Oak and Elm and Maple. Zayn lives on Maple, right on the corner in a little yellow house with a white picket fence around it. It doesn’t look like the type of house that Zayn would occupy but Harry likes it.

Harry likes the purple flowers that line the walkway, just on the other side of the gate. Harry makes sure to lock the gate, since he remembers that Zayn has dogs. And he likes that he can tell there are dogs here, the grass littered with tennis balls and squeaky toys.

That part of it feels like Zayn, to have his house feel like a home to not just himself but to his dogs. Harry loves that part of it.

There are two doors, a white one and a screen. The white one is open, letting Harry get a peek into the house before he knocks. Then there are nails on hardwood and two barking dogs rushing towards the door, tails wagging when they see Harry.

“Hey, hey. Quiet down,” Zayn shouts, stepping around in the corner in all his glory. He’s dressed casually, so unlike the way he looks at work and even how he looked at the grocery store that day. His jeans are loose and tight at the same time, his grey shirt hanging off his collarbones. There’s ink there, ink he hasn’t seen before in the button-ups at work and the long sleeve at the store. Harry might possibly faint. There’s ink everywhere, ink up his arms and on his hands and on his collarbones and Harry is dying to know where else has ink.

“Sorry, we don’t usually have people over besides Rosie when she decides I haven’t been eating enough,” Zayn says, using a leg to keep the dogs back as he pulls open the screen door. “They get excited easily.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “It’s nice to be jumped on for once. Bongo usually just gives me a look of distaste when I walk in the door. Hi.”

There’s a puppy pressed against Harry’s legs, tongue hanging out of his mouth, trying to reach up to Harry’s face. The other dog, one that looks like an older version of the puppy is yapping at him still, spinning in circles.

“Bongo?” Zayn asks, smile etched on his face as he shuts the white door.

“My cat. He’s very indifferent to all things. Well, not all. Most things. But he’s a cat, so he shows his love in other ways, not out loud like this.”

“Will you two get out of here?” Zayn says. He grabs a ball off a little end table and chucks it, the two dogs rushing after it and forgetting all about Harry.

“They look like—brothers, I guess. Are the related?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. I got Harley years ago, about four years or so. And Rhino is new.”

“Rhino?”

“Bongo?”

“He used to do this weird meow, it sounded like chirping. I don’t know, Bongo just seemed like the best name for him.”

“Rhino’s are grey and given a bad reputation, just like my dogs are. It seemed like the best name for him.”

“A bad reputation?”

Zayn nods, motioning for Harry to follow him. “Walk and talk, I have dinner to finish,” he says. “And yeah, a bad rep. When I finished moving in everyone was worried about Harley. Everyone used to give me shit about him, told me to keep him inside the fence, to build my fence up, to chain him up.”

“Did he do something or…”

“No, just the way he looks. The type of dog he is,” Zayn explains, shrugging. He grabs a spoon off the counter and moves towards a pot, stirring something. “But they’ve changed their mind about him.”

“He does look vicious,” Harry says, watching as Harley lies on the ground, Rhino jumping and diving on top of him, nipping at his eyes and trying to get him to play. Harley takes it, chewing on the ball that Zayn threw towards them. “He’s really hurting that ball.”

Zayn laughs, setting the spoon down and grabbing two wine glasses from out of the cabinet. “You want some?”

“Please,” Harry says, leaning on the counter to watch Zayn. “But what made everyone change their minds about him?”

“He got loose one day. I had left the gate open on accident and he ran around town. Everyone was terrified, worried he was going to attack the kids.”

“What did he do?”

“You know the fountain in the center of town?”

“Yeah.”

“He jumped inside of it. He didn’t bother anyone. He ran from our house to the fountain, jumped inside of it and decided to have a swim. I guess it was then when everyone decided they were wrong about him. By the time I got there he was running around while some of the kids hung over the side of the fountain and splashed him.”

“If only they knew what a monster he is,” Harry says, watching as Harley begins to tear the green fuzz off the ball. “I think he’s killed that ball.”

“Yeah, he tends to do that when Rhino wants to play. We’re working on sharing. Until then I’ll just continue to spend my paychecks on dog toys,” Zayn says, setting a glass of wine down in front of Harry. “Dinner should be done in fifteen.”

“It smells delicious.”

“I didn’t ask what you like, so I’m hoping that you’ll be okay with whatever I’ve made up.”

“And what have you made?” Harry asks. The wine is bitter and burns as it goes down, but Harry likes it. He enjoys the warmth it spreads inside of him.

“That’s a secret.”

Harry pouts and bats his eyelashes, trying to con Zayn into telling him what he’s making with his good looks. It doesn’t work, Zayn just smiles at him over the rim of his glass, mouth pulled in a tight line despite the alcohol he’s consuming. He shrugs at Harry, setting the glass back down and moving towards the stove once more.

“If you want to help you can set the table.”

“I never offered to help,” Harry teases.

“Let me rephrase that, plates are in that cabinet. Set the table.”

It sounds like an order and Harry surprises himself with how much he likes it, but that’s a thought for another day. Right now he does what he’s told, grabbing plates and silverware, moving to set them down on the table on the other side of the kitchen. Harry doesn’t know the appropriate place settings, so he wings it, forks on whatever side he feels like and knives right next to them.

Harry finishes at the same time as Zayn, who is carrying bowls and trays filled with various different foods.

“I made more than we need, but it’ll be alright. Save the leftovers for another night. Or for lunch. I don’t know, whatever.” He shrugs as he sets the food on the table. “I need to get the chicken out of the oven. But. Yeah. Have a seat.”

Zayn looks nervous, wiping his hands on his pants before he rushes back to the oven, fumbling around for oven mitts. Harry watches, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Have you ever asked anyone to dinner before?” Harry asks, tapping his finger against his jaw as he watches Zayn.

Zayn laughs, setting the chicken down on the table with the rest of the food. He breathes out a sigh, sliding into the chair next to Harry and handing him his wine glass. “You know, I haven’t…done this since I ended my engagement. It’s been years since I’ve tried to date anyone.”

“So this is a date?”

“Were you under the impression that this was anything else?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. Or well, I had hoped it would be.”

“What would you have done if it wasn’t?”

“Ate dinner, gone home, and acted like the thought of this being a date never crossed my mind. However, I would have done that either way, at least until I figured it out for sure.”

“Well, then I guess we’re dating,” Zayn says. He’s not looking at Harry; he’s focused on cutting the chicken and putting some on Harry’s plate. He’s still nervous, and Harry watches him, watches as Zayn makes their plates. It’s like he needs something to do with his hands so Harry lets him, doesn’t stop him when Zayn gives him more than he can eat.

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I haven’t been on a date since my fiancée left me.” Zayn’s actions cease and he stares at Harry, blinking slowly. He laughs, finally stopping with piling food on Harry’s plate. “Yeah, we’re both newbies so you can relax.”

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles. He runs his fingers through his hair, breathing out. “Right. Okay. We can eat. I’m sorry for all the…potatoes.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, smiling. Zayn lifts his wine glass up and takes another sip, grinning at Harry as he sets it back down. “You good?”

“I am, yeah.” He shakes himself off and then breathes out once more. “Okay so I made everything, like, almost everything that I have inside of this house. So we’ve got chicken with a blueberry glaze, my mom recommended it and I trust her opinion. And then, well, there’s the potato mountain on your plate, along with every vegetable under the sun.”

“It’s good. Potatoes are good,” Harry says.

“You’re either trying to flatter me or you’re just a good liar, Mr. Styles.”

“If I was going to flatter you then I would have said that I really enjoy the way that shirt fits you. And I’ve been distracted by your collarbones since I walked in the door. And then I’d let you know that the potatoes are in fact amazing, which isn’t surprising since you made them,” Harry says. “How is that for flattery?”

“Are you sure that you haven’t dated anyone? You’re pretty good at this.”

“So I haven’t lost my skill,” Harry jokes, leaning back in his chair in satisfaction. Zayn laughs at him, eyes wrinkled and teeth on display. It’s exactly what he wanted, to see Zayn loose and happy, no longer nervous about being around Harry.

+++

“You did not do that.”

“I did,” Harry assures him, handing Zayn another plate to wash. “It was during my undergrad, during rush week for one of the fraternity’s.”

“Oh, lawyer and ex-frat boy. You’re full of surprises,” Zayn says, looking at Harry over his shoulder. “Were you also like, top of your class or something?”

“Not during undergrad, no, but not many people in our fraternity were.”

Zayn looks at him, head cocked and eyes squinted. He looks deep in thought and Harry raises his eyebrows, passing Zayn another plate.

“I’m just trying to see if I can figure out what other secrets you’re hiding in there.”

You, Harry thinks. Us. “I hardly think being in a frat is a secret. More like…” He waves his hand in the air, trying to think of the right word. “It’s more like information I haven’t given you yet. Not a secret.”

“Well, what else have you done in your life that I don’t know about?”

There’s a wine glass sitting at the edge of the sink and it’s half full. He doesn’t know if it’s his or if it’s Zayn’s, but he grabs it anyway, draining it before he hands it off to be washed. “What if I said that I used to be a gladiator?”

“Like a mascot at a school or a fast food place?”

“No, like an actual gladiator.”

“Like in Ancient Rome?” Harry nods. Zayn opens his mouth to say something and then he closes it, frowning, wine glass held under the running water, spilling over and onto Zayn’s hand.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says. He laughs lightly, shaking his head as he goes back to cleaning the dishes. “For a second it sounded for familiar. But that’s weird. Maybe I’m just remembering Braveheart or something.”

Harry closes his eyes and exhales. Please remember me. “They’re not gladiators in Braveheart, they’re just…soldiers. Generic soldiers. I’m not sure they had a fancy title. And either way, it took place in Scotland or something, not in Rome.”

“Well, I’m remembering something Some movie. Must be the hair.”

“What about my hair?”

“It’s long,” Zayn says. “Longer than any teacher I’ve ever seen. Longer than any ex-lawyers. Maybe not an ex-frat boy, though.”

“You’re really not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Zayn says, smiling as he sets the last dish in the rack, shutting off the water and turning to look at Harry. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles. “You just have—”

“What?”

“There’s a bit of soap on your cheek,” Harry says. “Let me get it for you.” He reaches out, thumb brushing against Zayn’s cheekbone. The offending bit of foam disappearing when Harry wipes it away. “There all gone.”

Harry doesn’t move his hand. It feels like it’s trapped like, branded to Zayn’s cheek and nothing could tear it away. He brushes his thumb against Zayn’s cheek some more, taking him in. Zayn’s breath hitches and Harry closes his eyes, feeling the energy around them change, like two opposite poles on magnets coming together, quick and natural, because that’s what they’re made to do, to come together.

Zayn kisses him first, pushing up on his toes to connect their lips. Harry’s already lost his breath, just with their lips touching. Zayn doesn’t pull back, just rests his hands on Harry’s hips pulling him in closer. Harry cups his jaw, releasing a deep breath before he kisses him again, slotting their lips together.

He pushes Zayn up against the countertop, deepening the kiss and pulling Zayn in closer, pressing their bodies flush together.

Zayn kisses Harry like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do, like it’s the end of the world and Zayn’s rivaling the intensity in this kiss. Harry’s head is spinning but he keeps kissing, fingers working their way from his jaw to his hair to his hips and under his shirt, anything to get Zayn closer, to feel every inch of him.

Zayn pulls away enough to say, “my rooms down the hall.” Harry nods and then kisses him again, walking them backwards.

Zayn helps guide them towards his bedroom, fumbling with the light switch in the kitchen. He has to pull away and Harry - who is completely against doing anything that means they can’t be kissing - attaches his lips to Zayn’s neck, kissing and biting. Zayn hips jerk against his, practically pushing Harry down the hall.

Harry pins Zayn against the wall of his bedroom, working his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rid him of it. He’s been dying all night to see what’s under, to see the tattoos there. And there are more, a heart on his hip, Arabic on his chest, a playing card on his ribs. Fuck. They’re definitely keeping the lights on.

“God, you’re like—This is—Holy shit,” Harry mutters, attaching his lips to Zayn’s once more, kissing him quickly. He drags his lips down the side of Zayn’s face, moving to his neck and landing on the pair of lips on his collarbones. It’s like an invitation, a request for Harry suck at the skin, to see if he can make them redder.

Zayn’s working at the zip of Harry’s jeans, shoving them down and dipping his hands inside of Harry’s boxers, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock. Harry moans, low and deep. It’s been ages since there’s been another person near his dick. He almost wants to cry at the feeling.

“Fuck,” Harry curses, resting his head in the curve of Zayn’s neck, wrapping his arms around him and bucking into Zayn’s hand. “Fuck. Oh god, that’s. We—the bed. The bed.”

Zayn flicks his thumb across the head of Harry’s dick, his nail catching the slit and Harry’s knees go weak, collapsing into Zayn.

“I’ve got you, babe,” Zayn mutters, the hand around Harry’s dick tightening as he flicks his wrist, stroking Harry thoroughly. “Come on, let’s get you out of those pants.”

Harry nods and whines as Zayn lets go of him, stepping back to help Harry out of his jeans and boxers. Harry kicks off his boots to help get out of them, hopping around and landing with a thud on Zayn’s bed. He rips his socks off and then his shirt, leaning back on his elbows to watch Zayn step out of his own pants, watching him get naked.

“You expecting a show?” Zayn asks, throwing his jeans down on the ground.

“I could give you one,” Harry says, scooting back on the bed. He finds the head rest, leaning back against it and spreading his legs, his hand wrapping around his cock. “Since you’re taking so long.”

He strokes himself lazily, watching as Zayn pulls off his boxers and grabs a condom and lube out of the drawer, tossing them on the bed next to Harry. “Put that on, I want to ride you.”

Harry has to squeeze his dick to keep from coming. Zayn’s wetting his fingers with the lube, reaching behind him to work his body open, to prepare for Harry - and Harry’s going to die if he doesn’t get to fuck Zayn soon. His dick is going to shrivel up and fall off completely.

Harry works quickly to get the condom on, lathering his cock up generously with lube, leaning back down to watch Zayn. He’s got two fingers inside him, his eyes closed with breathy little gasps escaping his lips as he scissors his fingers inside of him. Harry has to clutch the sheets to keep from touching, not just himself but Zayn as well.

“Babe, you’ve got to do something. I’m dying,” Harry grits out and Zayn laughs, pushing a third finger inside. He’s aching, his dick throbbing and Zayn is laughing like this is some kind of joke.

“Yeah, alright. I’m good. Fuck, I think I’m good,” Zayn says, pulling his fingers out and crawling over Harry.

“I really wanted you to fuck me,” Harry tells him, grabbing the base of his cock. “Fuck. I really wanted it.”

“Next time,” Zayn mutters, gripping onto Harry’s shoulders as he gets himself situated. Harry strokes the head of cock teasingly against Zayn’s hole, waiting for him to give the green light.

Zayn sinks down on him slowly, taking his time. Harry has to use all of his willpower not to buck his hips up, not to fuck into Zayn fast and steady. All he feels is heat, velvety heat.

“You feel so—Oh god,” Harry groans as Zayn bottoms out, sitting fully on Harry’s hips. He chokes on his words, hands coming to rest on Zayn’s hips.

Zayn laughs at him again and Harry doesn’t even care anymore, just tugs Zayn down so that they’re kissing, anything to distract from the feeling of being buried inside of Zayn.

As he rocks his hips, steady circles as he adjusts, Harry runs his fingers up his back and then back down, gripping onto his ass and squeezing, kneading the fleshy part.

“You’re amazing, you know,” Zayn tells him, speaking against Harry’s cheek as he finally settles on a pace, fucking himself on Harry’s cock earnestly, like it’s the only thing he wants. “Fuck.”

“You too, babe. You too,” Harry says, watching as Zayn bounces faster on his cock, Harry meeting his thrusts.

They fuck in earnest, speeding up and then slowing down, pausing so that Zayn can circle his hips and rock back and forth, his hands still on Harry’s shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.

It’s been too long for both of them and dragging this out – as much as Harry wants this to last all night, all week – is next to impossible. There’s a flutter in his stomach, a jolt of electricity in his spine and he barely has a second to warn Zayn before he’s coming, wrapping his fingers around Zayn’s cock to help him get there.

His vision goes in and out of focus as his orgasm hits him, drawing out a long, guttural moan.

Zayn follows suit shortly after, panting harshly in Harry’s ear as he comes thick ribbons on Harry’s stomach, clenching around Harry’s dick.

“That was—”

“Perfect,” Zayn mumbles, pulling off Harry slowly. “Fucking perfect.”

Harry reaches over the side of the bed and grabs his shirt, wiping off his stomach before he passes it over to Zayn. He’s too tired to get up, too tired to do any more than clean himself off and pull the condom off. He lies back down, breathing harshly, his eyes shut. He feels Zayn reach across him to turn the light off, then as he lies down next to Harry, his head on Harry’s chest.

+++

Zayn’s angry. Harry wouldn’t expect anything less from him.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Harry thought that maybe Zayn would be proud of him, proud of the fact that Harry is putting the lives of thousands, maybe millions of people before his own. He thought that Zayn would be proud that Harry put his name on the list of volunteers to go overseas.

He’d be proud of him, even while he was angry. But that’s not—Harry was definitely wrong on how he thought that Zayn would react.

Zayn’s pacing the room, muttering something under his breath, trying to find a sense of reason behind this, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to enter Harry’s mind from recruitment center to find out what he was thinking. Harry watches and waits, waits to find out how Zayn deals with his emotions.

“When did you do this?” Zayn asks, voice quiet and thoughtful, still trying to piece together what’s going on.

“Three days ago.”

“Three days—Three days,” Zayn shouts. “Why are you just now telling me about this?”

“I wanted to find the right way. I didn’t want to just…throw this at you.”

“Yes, telling me when I walk in the door from work was a spectacular idea.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says…again. “I wanted to tell you differently, to tell you in a better way, but I panicked.”

“Right. And how long were you planning this.”

“Zayn—”

“No,” Zayn says, ceasing his pacing to stare at Harry. “Don't. How long?”

“For a while now. Weeks, maybe. Since they first asked for volunteers.”

Zayn glares at him, eyes wild and burning. He’s breathing harshly, like he’s going to freak out any moment now. “You can’t go to war, Harry.”

“It’s too late. I’m going.”

“No. I mean you literally cannot go. You have asthma, Harry.”

“They don’t know about that; I didn’t tell them.”

“It’s on your medical file, how could they miss it?” Zayn asks, looking incredulously at Harry. Harry looks at him and then looks away, not wanting to give anything away. “You lied on your file. How did you do that? How did you convince a doctor to do that, Harry?”

“That’s none of your business, Zayn.”

“I’m going to tell them. You can’t lie, Harry, it could get you killed.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone,” Harry says, jumping up and grabbing Zayn by his arm, stopping him from leaving. “I’m doing this and you can’t stop me.”

Zayn yanks his arm out of Harry’s grasp, pulling away from him. His gaze is hard and angry, angrier than Harry’s ever seen in his life. “I’m telling them and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I’ll never speak to you again,” Harry tells him, voice cold and emotionless.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Zayn says, shoulders squared and gaze hardened. “If you go then that’s not a guarantee. Do you listen to the radio, Harry? Do you hear how many people are dying?”

“I’m trying to help,” Harry shouts. “Why are you so mad about this? Everyone else was proud of me, they’re happy that I’m going out there to help our country, to help the world.”

Zayn shakes his head, breathing out harshly through his nose. His fists are clenched at his sides, jaw clenched as he breathes for a moment, trying to calm himself down. “If you go over there and you don’t come back then I lose everything. Do you understand that?”

“Zayn, I know,” Harry says, reaching out to touch the other boy, to pull him close and let him know that everything will be okay. Those other guys—Harry’s not them. Harry has something that’s worth so much, so much that he’d never not come home to.

“I don’t think you do know,” Zayn says, stepping away from Harry. He looks at him sadly and then leaves, leaving Harry alone.

Harry ships off a week later, standing in a crowd of people that are waiting to go. His family is at home, because Harry didn’t want their faces to be the last thing he sees before he goes. He didn’t want to see his mother crying for him, his siblings trying to be strong as they watch him disappear on the train. He stands tall and tries to look proud as he waits, as he watches everyone else say goodbye to their loved ones.

Zayn hasn’t spoken to him since that night, since their fight. He went to stay with his parents again, and Harry hasn’t seen him since. Harry thinks he’ll come around, maybe.

With a sigh, Harry pulls the crumbled picture out of his pocket, the one of him and Zayn with their faces pressed together, Harry’s nose in Zayn’s cheek as Zayn grins. They look happy. They were happy. Maybe not like everyone else, not publicly and out loud, but they were. In the quiet of their home, in the darkness of their bedroom, the one everyone thinks is Harry’s.

It’s why they don’t have guests over; it’s why they’re careful.

“I didn’t know you already had one of those,” a voice says from behind Harry and he jumps, nearly dropping the photograph in his hands. “I came to bring you one.”

“Zayn,” Harry breathes, turning and nearly falling into the other boy. “Oh my god, you came.”

“How could I not?” Zayn asks, looking down at the ground and shrugging.

Harry looks around and then grabs Zayn, pulling away from the crowd and into an area with some cargo, a place where they won’t be seen. No one is paying attention anyway, so it not like it matters. Harry’s leaving and he needs this moment. He doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.

“Look at me,” Harry says and Zayn does. His eyes are sad, his lips turned down. He’s been crying and Harry’s heart aches. It hurts, a pain radiating and coursing through his veins, moving throughout his body like he’s nothing he’s ever felt before. “I’m coming back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Okay? I do.”

“And what if you don’t?”

“I will,” Harry says and he’s sure of it, more than he is of anything else. “And you’ll be alright while I’m away. I know that too.”

Zayn releases a shaky breath and nods, his eyes beginning to get wet. “I wrote you a letter, you know. I figured—I don’t know. I thought you might want it. I thought—You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

“Every chance I get.”

Zayn nods again, rubbing at his eyes. “There’s a picture in there. Of me. Of your family. Of us.”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles, stepping forward and pulling Zayn into a hug. He presses his nose into Zayn’s hair, breathing him in. He wants the smell engraved in his mind. He wants to remember it at night when he’s sleeping in countries he’s only heard about, when he’s alone and ready to give up. He’ll remember his smell and the way he looks and the way he tastes. Oh the way he tastes.

Harry shifts them around until their kissing, lips pressed together. There’s a goodbye and a promise for more laced in the movement of their lips. There’s a reminder of everything that he’s leaving behind and everything that he needs to come back to. Home is in that kiss, in the boy connected to Harry.

Harry’s going to come back to him.

+++

Harry wakes up in a cold sweat, jolting awake because he knows that he’s late. Or he might be. He’s not sure. He pats around for his phone, wanting to check the time and he frowns as he looks at the sheets. His sheets aren’t charcoal grey, they’re white and this isn’t his bed. He’s not at home.

It takes a minute before he remembers. Before he registers the sound of the shower and spots the grey colored dog in the doorway, panting as he watches Harry.

“Harley, right?” Harry mutters, sitting up slowly. The dog rushes into the room, diving on the bed and curling up, like he’s been waiting for Harry to get up. “You know when your daddy is going to be out of the shower?

The dog doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. But the water shuts off and that’s answer enough. He leans over the side of the bed for his shirt, frowning when he remembers he used it as a rag the night before. Fuck. He’s going to need to borrow some clothes.

“You’re up.”

Harry blinks. Zayn’s naked, standing in the doorway and rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Harry’s not going to complain about it. Zayn should stay naked. Just—always be naked, for the benefit of everyone, really, but mostly for Harry’s sake. Clothes really are the enemy when it comes to Zayn.

“There’s come on my shirt.”

“Sorry,” Zayn mutters, shrugging as he finally wraps the towel around his waist. Harry hates that towel. “The water’s still hot. I left a towel in there for you. You should probably get in if you want to make it to work on time. I’ll leave out some clothes for you.”

“Oh fuck, I forgot about work,” Harry whines, lying back on the bed with his arm thrown over his face. This is the worst. Zayn’s covering his body and he has to work. Today is already shit. “I’m not going.”

“You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You know if you go,” Zayn says and Harry hears movement. He peeks under the curve of his arm to see that Zayn’s walking towards him, smiling. He stops in front of Harry, lying down on top of him. “I could make it worth your while.”

“How?” Harry asks, putting his arm back over his eyes. Zayn kisses his neck and okay. That’s…decent.

“I could blow you in the shower, if you promise to be quick.”

“Get up. Get off me,” Harry says, shoving Zayn off his body. He grabs Zayn by the hand, pulling him towards the direction of the bathroom, Zayn laughing as they go.

+++

“Mr. Styles.”

Harry pauses, dinner Zayn cooked half to his lips at the sound of his name. “Hi, Abby. Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Styles, I didn’t do my math sheets.”

“You didn’t do them?”

Abby shakes her head, blonde hair moving wildly with the action. “Math is hard and my mom doesn’t get it. She said I should tell you I need help, but I didn’t want to do it in class.”

“Which parts hard?”

“All of it,” she sighs and Harry laughs, much to her horror.

“Sorry. It’s not funny,” he tells her. “It was just a very honest answer. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“You shouldn’t laugh, Mr. Styles.”

“Not laughing at you, Abby. You’re just the first student to be honest about not completing their homework and how they need help,” he explains. “How about this, you run over there and finish your lunch, then we’ll have recess, and afterwards when we’re going over the sheet you can ask me some questions in class, okay? Because I bet you’re not the only one with these questions.”

“The other kids will think I’m dumb.”

“You’re not dumb,” Harry assures her. “Math is hard. Just ask me some questions, I promise it’ll help. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll set up some after school sessions. I think they have tutors. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, thank you, Mr. Styles,” Abby says, grinning at him before she rushes off.

Harry shakes his head, watching her go before he goes back to his meal, grateful that Zayn came up with the idea of packing leftovers for lunch. It’s one way to make sure it all gets eaten and it’s another way for Harry’s taste buds to enjoy the glory that is Zayn’s cooking.

“Still good?” Zayn asks, sitting next to Harry.

“Even better the second time around.”

“I was talking about the food,” Zayn teases and Harry laughs.

“So was I, but I guess the same could be said about you.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at him, pulling a face as he pulls the lid off his container. “So, do you want to hear the latest gossip about you?”

“There’s gossip about me?”

“Yeah. Louis – he teaches fourth grade – says that you’re married and you left your wife and three kids to have a love affair with me, since everyone saw us leave my place together this morning. And by everyone I mean the tenth grade teacher Mrs. Norris, because she’s the only one who lives on my street that works here. Also the only one I saw this morning when we were leaving.”

“Is that who you were waving at?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think she’d tell everyone about that, but whatever.” He shrugs indifferent, stabbing his fork into his food.

“So she said I slept over and then Louis, whoever that is, decided I was married with three kids?”

“Yeah. And how don’t you know Louis? His classroom is across the hall from yours.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I think he just wanted a reaction out of Liam, the gym teacher.”

“I have no idea who these people are,” Harry tells him. He walks his kids to gym but he’s never actually met anyone inside of it. He’s seen a man in red shorts before, but if it’s Liam he doesn’t know.

“They’re monsters, you’re lucky not to know them.” Zayn’s expression doesn’t match his words and Harry knows that he doesn’t actually mean it, that these people mean a little more to him then he’s giving away. “I need to call my mom and thank her for this chicken idea. It’s amazing.”

“Better the second time?”

“The jury is out on that one. But we’ll see. Maybe it’ll be better the third time around. Or the fourth.”

+++

They’re being robbed. Harry knows it. He can feel it. There’s a clatter coming from the kitchen and oh god, they’re being robbed. The babies are upstairs sleeping and Harry only wishes now that he would have woken Zayn up to go and get them, to keep them all together while Harry fights the burglars off.

Maybe he should have called the cops.

No. He can do this. He clutches the umbrella tighter in his hands, taking a deep breath and jumps out from behind fridge, out of the hall and into the kitchen.

“Hi Daddy,” a little voice says.

Harry’s heart is hammering in his chest as he flicks the light on, his grip loosening slightly on the umbrella. The lights reveal that it’s not a burglar, which is good, considering it’s seven-thirty in the morning.

“Cian, what are you doing?” Harry asks, propping the umbrella against the wall. He definitely doesn’t need that now.

“Ro wake me up,” he says, smiling.

“Ro.” Right, Harry nods. “Where is Roman?”

“I’m right here, Daddy,” comes another voice and Harry turns to see his eldest carrying a bag of flour. “We’re making pies.”

“You’re making—” Harry blinks and shakes his head, trying to wake himself up. “Do either of you realize what time it is?”

“Pie time,” cheers Cian, throwing his fist in the air.

“No, it’s sleep time.”

“Daddy,” Roman sighs, dropping the flour on the floor. “We did sleep. For hours.”

“And you should still be sleeping.”

“But we want pies.”

“Alright, well. Daddy’s not making anyone pies this early in the morning.”

“Daddy’s not. Roman and Cian am,” says Cian, shoving at Harry’s leg, an angry glare on his face at the thought of Harry trying to make the pies. Harry looks at him and resists the urge to glare back. It’s early and he’s been robbed thirty minutes of sleep.

“Okay. How does this sound, Daddy will make breakfast while you both watch some cartoons? Then, tonight, after school, we’ll make a pie for after dinner. But only if no one’s teacher calls me for bad behavior,” Harry says, directing the last part to Roman. He really does think his teacher is after him. She targets his son, his precious baby, and normally he wouldn’t entrust her with something like this, but he’s tired.

“Doesn’t sound good,” Roman says.

“Let me rephrase. Your butts on the couch, now.”

They sigh in unison and stomp off, Cian rushing back to grab his teddy bear from off the floor. He looks at Harry, then back to his brother, and when he sees the coast is clear, he rushes forward and hugs Harry’s leg, wishing him a good morning.

The rest of the morning plays out normally, thank god. The boys watch their show while Harry gets the coffee going – it’s a strong pot, he’s going to need it today – before he starts on breakfast. And when breakfast is being put on the plates, almost like clockwork, he can hear crying coming from towards the bedrooms. Cian gasps on the couch, jumping up to look at Harry over the back of it.

“The baby’s awake.”

Harry nods his head and sets the food down on the table. “You want to go make sure Baba wakes up to get her?” Harry asks and Cian nods, jumping off the couch and rushing towards his parents’ bedroom. “You don’t want to wake Baba, Ro?”

Roman shakes his head, moving from the couch to his chair. “Alia is smelly in the morning.”

Harry laughs, doing his best to bite it back. “That’ll change. You used to be smelly, too.”

“How long until she’s not smelly?”

“I don’t know, bud. Some people are smellier longer than others,” Harry says. Roman nods and digs into his breakfast, no longer wanting to talk about his little sister.

Zayn looks tired when he walks in, eyes puffy as he steps around the corner with Cian on his heels and Alia on his hip. Her head is resting on his shoulder, her hand tucked under her chin shyly. Harry sets the cup down and opens his arms, allowing Zayn and Alia to step into them. Zayn stays longer than Alia, who wiggles out them, running towards the table to join her brothers.

“Your sons tried making a pie this morning,” Harry says, hand stroking Zayn’s back.

“Do I want to know?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t even really know.”

Harry watches, wincing when Alia almost falls off the chair. She’s doing her best to master climbing, wanting to keep up with her brothers at every turn. But she makes it and she smiles, grinning as she picks up her apple juice.

“Hi,” Alia says.

“Hi,” Roman and Cian repeat back.

“Hi,” Alia says again.

“Hi.”

“I promised them we could make a pie tonight,” Harry says, feeling Zayn nod against him. “One day mornings will be easier for you, babe.”

“Been five years,” Zayn mumbles quietly, pulling away to smile sleepily at Harry. “But at least I didn’t have to deal with the pie. Was it a mess?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I think I got here right before it became a mess.”

“Still regretting your decision to stop at three?” Zayn teases, reaching behind Harry for his coffee. That’s alright, Harry made it the way Zayn likes anyway, knowing that his husband is too tired – lazy – to make his own cup.

“You want more? We could start our own bakery. The kids could work the kitchen while we run the front, we won’t even have to worry about child labor laws because no one would know. It’ll be our little secret.”

“As appealing as that sounds, I don’t need anyone else in my life talking about the time they worked in a bakery,” Zayn teases and Harry pouts at him, lip jutted out. Zayn laughs, leaning forward to kiss Harry’s extended lip. “I think three is enough for now. And next time we’ll have more.”

“Next time,” Harry repeats, enjoying the promise of that. And there will be a next time, they both sure of it. They can remember the times before, the times without children and the times with. “What if we do seven next time?”

“Five,” Zayn tells him.

“Five… alright. Do you think you’ll remember that?” Harry asks and Zayn nods. “Do you think I’ll remember it?”

Zayn shrugs. “Even if you don’t, we’ll know. We always know.”

Harry nods, because they do. He kisses Zayn again, just because he can, because a million kisses in a million lifetimes is never enough for him. He needs more, always wants more. He’ll never have enough of Zayn, no matter how much time he gets with him.

“Ew, that’s gross,” shouts a voice from across the kitchen.

“Daddy, Baba, that’s uckie,” shouts another.

They pull apart with a laugh. Zayn makes a disgusted face at him, like he agrees with their kids.

“What if I kiss you next?” Zayn asks, stepping away from Harry and moving towards the kids. “Would that be gross?” He grabs Alia first, peppering her face with kisses. She squeals in delight, laughing uncontrollably at Zayn’s actions.

“Baba, stop,” Cian cries between giggles and Zayn does, but he moves quickly to kiss at Cian next. Roman dives out of his chair and runs towards Harry, trying to hide behind his legs.

“Don’t let him get me, Daddy.”

Alia bangs her fists on the table, shouting in glee as Zayn continues to kiss Cian. Harry watches fondly, waiting until Zayn frees Cian. He looks at Harry, bliss in his eyes and Harry laughs as he creeps forward, Roman squirming behind him trying to get away.

+++

“You’re mad at me because I spent the night somewhere. I know,” Harry says, trying to gently tug his clean clothes out from under his cat’s body. “I’ve said sorry. And I’m trying to clean. I need to put away these clothes.”

Harry tugs the sweater out from under the cat’s body quickly, throwing his fist up in victory when he gets it. Bongo jumps up, glaring at him as he slinks away, lying down on a perfectly clean button-up.

“We’re not going to do this all morning,” Harry says. He tosses the sweater down on the couch and then marches into the kitchen, finding a can of food that he keeps for special occasions, like now, when his cat is thoroughly pissed at him. He cracks the can open, makes as much noise as he can with it and smiles in triumph when he feels Bongo rubbing against his legs, wanting the food. “You eat this and I’ll go finish the laundry. Then we’ll cuddle and I’ll remind you that you’re the only boy in my life. The best boy.”

Cleaning isn’t how Harry planned to spend his Saturday night, but he had no other offers on the table as far as plans go. But his place looks like a warzone, clothes piled high on his couch where he dumped them after cleaning them all. And not to mention the boxes he needs to break down and shove in the back of his closet.

There’s so much to do and Harry finds that he doesn’t really care about it. He folds his clothes lazily, tossing the ones that go in the closet over the arm of the couch without much thought. Bongo joins him, this time lying on the chair and watching instead of trying to make things difficult.

Halfway through Harry gives up, stopping to stare at his clothes with his hands on his hips, checking his progress. “I think we’re done. Don’t you? It seems like a good stopping point.”

Bongo doesn’t answer and Harry takes that silence to mean he’s right. Of course he is.

“Let’s open a window, get some light in here. You look like you’re lying in a dungeon.” Harry leans against the couch, grabbing the stick attached to the blinds so he can open them, twisting and twisting until they crack. “Oh. Oh Bongo, come look at this.”

Harry leans over and grabs his cat with one hand, who twists and turns, trying to get away. Harry grabs him tighter, setting him down on the back of the couch. “That’s Zayn.”

Zayn’s outside, jogging a few houses away from Harry’s. Harley and Rhino are with him, unleashed and running in circles around him, setting the pace of the run.

Harry watches them, his cat curled under his arm as the three run past his house and down his street. He sighs and presses a kiss to Bongo’s head, reminding him that he’s still his best boy; despite the pretty one they just saw.

+++

Harry joins Bongo with lying on his clothes, the television turned on in the background. Cleaning after he saw Zayn felt pointless and a little boring, so he decided to be lazy, to lie down and watch his favorite movie.

He feels himself dozing off, eyes falling shut to the white noise of the television. There’s a weird buzzing noise and groans, rolling onto his side to try and figure out what it is. He can’t place it and when he pauses the movie it narrows down his options on what it could be.

His phone. It’s his phone. “Oh god,” he mumbles, rolling off the couch, mindful of his sleeping cat. He staggers towards the direction of the noise, finding his phone on the kitchen table.

Harry feels his heart pick up when he sees Zayn’s name and he curses his body for acting like a lovesick teenager. But he can’t help it, he can’t stop the erratic beating of his heart and the smile that forms on his face.

what r you doing ?

I was watching a movie with Bongo. What about you?

so ur not busy ?

No, not really. Why?

good bc we’re on our way over to urs

Harry stills, glancing around his house like Zayn might already be here. He rushes to the front window and peeks outside, seeing no one on his street besides his neighbor and her young daughter. It’s definitely not Zayn, though, so he can’t be that close. Maybe he just left when he sent the first text.

Now? We?

yea, we. saw you watchin us on our run and decided ur obvs bored so we’re comin to fix that

Harry’s skin burns at that, he’s sure that he’s redder than he’s ever been in his entire life. He texts Zayn back and then tosses his phone down, running to grab the laundry basket so he can throw his clothes inside of it.

“Get up, Bongo. We’ve got less than ten minutes to clean this place,” Harry says, yanking a sweater out from under his cat with an apologetic grin as he tosses the clothes in the basket. He runs to his room, dumping it in a corner and rushing back to the kitchen to do the dishes.

Harry’s never going to procrastinate cleaning again.

+++

“You’re out of breath” is the first thing that Zayn says to Harry when he opens the door. Harley and Rhino are at his side, leashed this time, unlike then when they were on the walk earlier.

“Yeah, I wanted to clean up a little bit,” Harry says. “My cat’s not going to be happy about them being here.”

“That’s alright,” Zayn says. “I was gonna walk them to the back, let them into your yard. They’ll be fine out there.”

Harry nods and steps outside, walking with Zayn to the fence on the side of his house. “I don’t know how sound that fence is, if it’ll keep them in the yard or…if it’ll even keep up, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn says, bending to let his dogs off their leashes while Harry pulls open the gate, allowing them in his yard. “If they escape then they’ll go to the fountain.”

“How often does that happen?” Harry asks.

Zayn shrugs, grinning at Harry as he grabs his hand, tugging him into the back yard with the dogs. “Let’s sit outside for a while, it’s nice out,” he says and Harry nods, shutting the gate and allowing Zayn to drag him through the yard.

There are chairs set up on his back deck, a place where he can sit and enjoy the afternoon sun when he’s grading homework or when he wants to think or look out at the stars at night. He hasn’t used it much but an afternoon with Zayn sounds like a nice way to break in new furniture, furniture he couldn’t fit on his balcony in his apartment in the city.

“I’ll run inside and get something to drink,” Harry says, motioning for the chairs as he slides open the back door. Bongo’s standing a bit from the door, looking outside in interest. He keeps it open in case he wants to step inside and moves to grab him and Zayn some wine. He frowns as he pours it, hoping that it’s not too early in the day for Zayn.

“Is that your cat?” Zayn asks, his head peeking inside the door as Harry steps around the corner.

“Yeah. That’s my boy,” Harry jokes, giggling at the look Zayn gives him. He hands him his glass of wine and takes a seat.

“You’re going to have to get over the fact I’ve got children.”

“I like your kids,” Harry says. “I’d like them even more if they stopped trying to dig up my tree.”

Zayn rubs at the back of his neck, lifting the wine to his lips. “Well, at least they’re making themselves at home.”

“Is that what that’s called?”

“I think it is.” Zayn smiles and turns, lifting his feet off the ground and resting them in Harry’s lap. “I should probably follow suit; don’t you think?”

Harry nods, resting his hands on Zayn’s ankles. He curls his fingers around his ankle, thumb stroking at the protruding bone. “Sorry I was watching you on your run,” he says and Zayn laughs, startling him.

“You’re hardly the first person to watch me run.”

“I’m sure but… I wasn’t trying to be like, invasive or whatever. I just saw you and… I don’t know. Wanted to see you, I guess.”

“Well I’m here now and obviously I wanted to see you too, otherwise I would have stayed at home and done nothing with my time.”

“I am the better choice, aren’t I?”

Zayn turns his foot, kicking at Harry’s hand. “Your head is getting big. I might have to avoid your calls and ignore you at work for a while, bring you back down to earth.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m already writing you off. I think I’ll call Rosie and see if she has a cute son or grandson or whatever that’s my age. Maybe not even my age, maybe I’ll trade you in for a younger model.”

“People would talk.”

“They already do,” Zayn sighs. “You’ve ruined my reputation, you know.”

“And you’ve ruined mine as well. Ruined it before I could even form one.”

Zayn laughs at that, resting his head on the back of his chair and smiling at Harry. He looks happy and that settles nicely in Harry’s stomach, radiating warmth moving around within him. He keeps his hand on Zayn’s ankle and drinks his wine, watching as Zayn’s dogs destroy his yard. It’s fine; Harry’s yard could use the disruption, much like his life. He used to be settled in a routine, living unhappily and hoping for something more. And maybe this is it, quiet afternoons with Zayn, feeling content and warm and like nothing else matters in the world.

Of course this is what it is, what Harry was waiting for. It’s what he’s always waiting for, even the times he doesn’t get it, even the times where he’s thought he was happy and had everything he wanted.

There’s a meow from behind them and Harry turns, finding Bongo staring at them curiously from the doorway. Harry pats his lap, or well, he pats Zayn’s legs and watches as he steps closer, jumping up and lying down.

“Is he shy?” Zayn asks, holding out his hand for Bongo to sniff.

Harry shrugs. “He doesn’t usually meet new people, but he’s alright. If he was worried, then he’d be hiding under my bed.”

“You’re right about this being different than meeting dogs. Harley would have knocked you out of that chair. With love. It would have been with love, though,” Zayn clarifies, turning his hand so that he can scratch Bongo’s neck. “It looks like he likes me. Like father like son, huh?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to get over the fact that I have a child.”

“He looks like you. Long hair and it sort of curls on his belly there. It’s like a preview of you as an old man, though, with the black and white fur. I bet you’ll have salt and pepper hair.”

“So will you.”

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I’ll look just like this, only a little aged.”

“So you’ll be pretty.”

Zayn grins and stops petting Bongo, reaching up to cup Harry’s chin in his hand. “Are you saying you think that I’m pretty?”

“That sounds incriminating. I’d never say that.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose and nods, leaning closer and pulling Harry towards him. “The fond look in your eyes says otherwise, Mr. Styles.” And then he kisses Harry, soft and gentle, with more care than Harry knows what to do with. He squeezes Zayn’s ankle and rests his forehead against Zayn’s, breathing him in when the kiss is over.

“You and the boys gonna spend the night tonight?” Harry asks, kissing the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

“Could do, if you wanted us to.”

“Always do.

“Then I guess you’re stuck with us for the night. But you’re going to have to wine and dine me if you expect me to put out.”

“Good thing I’ve already given you some wine, huh?” Harry says, kissing Zayn once more before he sits back in his chair. “And I think I’ve got some cheese and crackers inside.”

“Oh,” Zayn laughs. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I know I am, actually.”

“Yeah, don’t make me put you on the couch in your own house.”

Harry winks at him over the rim of his wine glass, enjoying the challenge in Zayn’s words.

+++

The rain is coming down fast and steady, turning the ground beneath Harry’s feet into mud. He walks along the street, clutching his jacket tighter to his body in hopes that it’ll protect him from the storm. It’s tame now but Harry knows, he’s seen enough clouds in his time to know that it’s going to turn into something nasty.

People are scattering in front of him, rushing home and towards shelter. Women move with their arms over their heads, shielding their hair from the rain. Some of them pull their shawls over their heads. Men put their hats on, moving swiftly past Harry.

Harry finds that he’s not that worried though, not in a rush to get back home. It’s just him there, alone with no one to keep him company. His mother has been trying to arrange something with him, to find him a lovely woman. But Harry doesn’t want a woman; he wants something that he can’t have.

A crack of thunder sounds overhead and Harry flinches, jumping at the sound. He’s not the only one scared, a young boy comes running behind him, shouting, “Momma, momma.” He looks frightened as he glances around the street, trying to see through the rain. “Momma,” the boy cries out again.

Harry moves towards him, ready to help him out, when a woman comes out of nowhere, rushing towards the boy.

“Zayn, baby you mustn’t run off like that.”

“I’m sorry, Momma.”

The pair rush off in front of Harry, hands clasped together as they turn down the next street and disappear from sight.

Zayn, Harry thinks. What an interesting name for a child.

+++

The kids in Harry’s class stare at him, their eyes blinking dully as he waits for them to say if they’re ready to move on or not.

No one says anything and no one moves; instead they just stare at him and at the board. He knew introduction to fractions would be hard but he had hoped a few of them would have picked up on it. But that’s not the case. It seems that taking a number and dividing it up into smaller chunks and placing it next to the numbers they know is far more complicated than he anticipated.

“Okay, you’re all confused. Does anyone want to tell me why you’re confused?”

“Why did you cut that five up?” Abby asks, head tilted to the side as she stares at the board.

“I didn’t. Or well, I guess I did but that’s what fractions are, I guess. They’re these bigger numbers, like a five, divided up. So what we’re doing is trying to figure out how to add fractions.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mr. Styles,” Morgan says and the rest of the class nod their heads in agreement.

Harry sighs and sets the chalk down. “Okay, so we’ll work with the number five, since that seems to be everyone’s favorite number today. Everyone hold up their hands, like this,” he says, holding up his right hand, his fingers separated from each other. His class follows suit, holding their little hands up in the air. “How many fingers are on your hand?”

“Five.”

“Okay so each finger is one-fifth. Every one of them makes up that five, so they’re a fraction. Does that make sense? Your thumb is one-fifth and if you add the next finger it’s two-fifths then—”

“Three-fifths.”

“Exactly, good job,” Harry encourages.

“Four-fifths.”

“And next, instead of saying five-fifths, we say one. Does that make it easier to understand?”

There are still a few blank faces in the crowd but most of them are nodding cautiously. It’s not bad for a first time lesson, to have the majority of his class understand something that he teaches them for the first time in what feels like ages.

“Mr. Styles, you should say that the first time,” Kieran says, much to the agreement of his classmates. “You make things really complicated.”

Harry laughs, grabbing the worksheet off his desk to start handing it out.

+++

Ten-thirty. Harry’s train leaves at ten-thirty. And he’s late, of course he is. He’s running through the station, his suitcase slapping into his thigh with every movement.

He needs to make it to platform eight. He needs to be there…minutes ago, actually. His mother is going to kill him if he misses Christmas dinner. He promised to be there, swore on everything that he wouldn’t miss this one. His sister’s just had her first baby and he’s supposed to meet his nephew for the first time.

Oh god, he’s so fucked.

There’s a final call announcement overhead and Harry curses, scrambling to grab his ticket from his pocket so he can shove it in the worker’s face as he jumps onboard.

Harry reaches the train and its doors are closed, workers missing and wheels moving slowly on the track. He shouts, waving to passengers inside, trying to get them to do something to help him. None of them do anything besides stare at him like he’s grown four heads.

There’s one face that sounds out in the crowd, a face that’s looking at him thoughtfully. Harry only falters for a second, stumbling over his feet as he realizes whom it is. He knows that face, knows that boy. And maybe it’s not this specific one that he knows, but he knows him. It’s in Harry’s soul to know this boy, to know Zayn. He’s seen his face in his dreams, for as long as he can remember. He’s seen them with a family, with a sword in his hand, and as an old man, smiling at Harry from a stark white bed.

Harry sprints, rushing after the train to try and get a better look at Zayn. But the train is moving faster than his feet will carry him, but he tries, he does everything he can to find the window where Zayn was.

Harry watches the train leave, the image of Zayn imprinted on his mind. He’s missed him. He’s missed the train. And he has no way of getting to either of them.

+++

The playground at Ashville’s school is small compared to most, but Harry figures it’s the best they can do on a small town budget. The kids seem to enjoy it, running around the blacktop and playing on the metal bars that are supposed to be a jungle gym and using the swings.

Harry’s currently moderating a game of kickball, making sure his kids don’t get into any unnecessary fights that kids are prone to get into during playground games.

Recess is only twenty-five minutes. Harry wishes that it was longer. Longer for the kids, who deserve the mental break, and longer for him, who deserves the time spent not having questions thrown at him. It is in his job description, but it gets tiring. Harry’s exhausted sometimes, worn out from having to constantly think of new and creative ways to teach a lesson. Which is why recess is not only good for the kids, but for the teachers as well.

“You know; my kids think you’re cute.”

Harry turns, startled at the sound of Zayn’s voice. “What? What are you doing out here?”

“My class is in gym and I got bored watching you through the window. It’s much harder to check out your ass from a distance.”

“Are you saying I have a small butt?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Zayn says, holding up his hands. “All I said was that I like it. And also that my kids think you’re cute.”

“Are we talking about your students or your dogs?”

“My students,” Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “They told me after lunch, said that you’re very handsome.”

“Well, they’re five,” Harry says. Kids tend to think anyone is attractive, they’re not biased on looks the way that adults are. They haven’t developed any sort of taste, which is why they think everyone is attractive. It’s hardly surprising to Harry that they’d call him cute. Well, it’s a little surprising that they’d tell Zayn about it.

“Are you insulting their taste? Because if you are, then you should know that you’re also insulting my taste. And I don’t have poor taste in men.”

“Not insulting, just saying. Children tend to love everyone, don’t they?”

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess you could say that’s true. I often hear how attractive Liam is.”

Harry knows that he’s heard the name before but he can’t place it. He also doesn’t care, not really anyway. It’s probably one of Zayn’s friends in the school, another one of the teachers that he hasn’t taken the time out to meet. It’s not that he doesn’t want to know the people he works with, he does, but… It’s hard to explain. He’d rather keep to himself. People in this town talk and the more that they know him, the more they know about him, then the more his business is put out in the world for everyone to dissect. It’s bad enough people can’t seem to stop talking about him and Zayn.

“Did you come out here to tell me that I’m cute?”

“No,” Zayn says, waving at a kid behind Harry’s back. “I came to ask if you’re busy tonight.”

“I’m never busy.”

“I know, but formalities are a thing, you know. It’s polite to ask and not to assume.”

“Well then, no, Zayn, I am not busy tonight. Nor am I busy any other night.”

“Then do you want to come to mine tonight? I was thinking of dinner and a movie? I’ll make dinner and you can bring the movie. Or pick one, I do have quite a few.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry agrees, sparing a look at his watch to see that he should start telling his class to line up. “I’ll be there.”

“Seven o’clock,” Zayn says, walking backwards away from Harry. “Don’t be late.”

+++

There are little place settings on the table in Zayn’s living room when Harry arrives later that evening. He’s brandishing a bottle of wine through the screen door at Zayn and a bag of dog treats he grabbed after work.

Zayn takes the wine as he lets him in, grabbing Harry by the belt loop and pulling him closer. He pushes up on his toes and meets Harry for a kiss, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re two minutes late,” he mutters, mouth still attached to Harry’s as he kicks the door shut.

“I walked here,” Harry says, kissing Zayn once more before he pulls away. “I guess I miscalculated how long it would take.”

Zayn squints his eyes at him, pretending not to believe Harry. “A likely excuse, I’d say. But I’ll forgive you, since you bring treats and wine.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, ripping open the bag of dog treats. Harley and Rhino are bouncing around at his feet, bodies whipping back and forth from the force of their tail wags. He tosses a treat to Harley, who jumps in the air to catch it, nearly landing on Rhino in the process. Rhino barks, biting at Harley’s ankle for it so Harry bends, slipping the other treat into his mouth. “No need to be so bossy.”

“He’s a baby,” Zayn defends. “And he doesn’t get a lot of treats here.”

“Oh? You’re that kind of parent.”

“No, I only give special treats during training, the rest of the time it’s kibble.”

“That’s not a treat.”

“It is when you offer it in a baby voice.”

“Can I hear it?”

“No,” Zayn says, turning and walking towards the kitchen. “I didn’t make anything special for dinner, I hope that’s alright. My wallet can’t afford another five-star meal to try and impress you. Plus, we’re watching a movie, so I figured finger foods are best.”

“Finger foods are good,” Harry confirms.

“Good because it’s just sandwiches, but like, classy sandwiches, I guess.”

“What makes a sandwich classy?”

“Fancy bread,” Zayn mutters, biting down on his bottom lip. Harry tries to keep a straight face but he ends up laughing, leaning against Zayn as he does. He keeps his head on Zayn’s shoulder, feeling Zayn’s arm wind around his waist. “I thought about making chili instead.”

“That’ll make you taste bad,” Harry says, kissing the curve of Zayn’s neck. “Fancy bread sandwiches are fine. I’ll eat anything.”

“Good to know,” Zayn mutters.

They set everything up in the living room and Zayn shows Harry where he keeps his movies, a little cabinet next to the couch and not the television, like it should be. Zayn’s movie choices are pretty narrow, Harry thinks, scanning through a wide variety of superhero flicks and Bollywood and action and obscure films from genres that Harry’s not sure about. There’s a very small range where their interests overlap, so Harry settles for something that promises to be the spy thriller of the century. It’s a loaded promise but Harry wants to know if it’ll deliver.

Harry settles on the couch next to Zayn, pressing back against him, Zayn’s arm around his shoulders as they eat their fancy sandwiches. Harley and Rhino are panting at their legs, whining occasionally to try and get a bite. Harry holds off strong, refusing to give either of the dogs a bite. The sandwich is good and he’s hungry, watching the movie intently, trying to hear over their loud breathing. Zayn isn’t as strong as he is, slipping them bits of meat to keep them happy.

The movie isn’t the spy thriller that it promised it would be. Harry can already tell who the killer is twenty minutes into it. And the main character is dull and rude and Harry has a hard time keeping up with him. It’s fast paced and action packed, more so than necessary, in his opinion.

Harry sighs and settles back into Zayn. This is probably why he should have picked something else. Something to satisfy either of their interests, or something to at least hold both their interests for the hour and a half it’s on.

Zayn’s got his hand in Harry’s hair, fingers scratching at his scalp and Harry closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling. He’s far more interesting than this movie and he’s glad that Zayn knows it; glad his attention is on him. At least the majority of his attention, the rest of it, a very small amount, is placed on the television. Harry can tell with the way Zayn’s body jerks at the explosions, jumping and wincing at the fight sequences.

“You’re bored,” Zayn says.

“No I’m not,” Harry lies.

“You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m not bored.”

“You’re a shitty liar, Harry.”

Harry sighs and rolls over until he’s lying on top of Zayn. Zayn has to lie flat on his back to accommodate the movement, so Harry’s not dangling off the side of the couch. “Don’t you think there’s something more productive we could be doing with our time besides watching this movie?”

“I like this movie.”

“It’s boring,” Harry admits, biting his bottom lip. “And his best friend killed his wife.”

“Hey, I’ve never seen it before,” Zayn says, pinching Harry’s side. “And how do you know?”

Harry grins, resting his chin on Zayn’s sternum. “I’m smart, obviously. But now that I’ve spoiled it for you, can I kiss you?”

“You really don’t like that you’re the center of attention, do you?”

Harry shrugs and laughs, crawling up Zayn’s body. He really doesn’t care about anyone’s attention besides Zayn’s, so yeah, maybe he hates the movie because Zayn wants to focus on it more than him. But who can blame him? His mind and body are distracted and that’s not his fault.

“Are you gonna kiss me, then?” Zayn asks and Harry is more than happy to oblige, half rolling off of Zayn and pulling the other boy on top of him, already working to deepen the kiss.

+++

They kiss until the movie ends and Harry’s hard in his pants, grinding against Zayn in the dark. He can feel Zayn beneath him, can feel how he’s not doing much better, his breathing ragged and body moving with Harry’s.

“Come on,” Harry mumbles, gently pushing at Zayn’s stomach to try and ease him up. “Your room. Let’s go to bed.”

Zayn nods but doesn’t stop kissing him, instead he stands up awkwardly, pulling Harry up and getting his hands on him, shoving his hands under Harry’s shirt and walking him backwards down the hall.

It’s what Harry wants. He wants Zayn to take charge, wants him to press him against the wall and fuck him until he’s loose and pliant, knees weak and head fuzzy. God, he wants it so badly. He can almost taste it and his cock jerks in his jeans, wanting so desperately to be touched.

Zayn’s bedroom feels further away than necessary; it should have been closer, because Harry wants this. He’s aching for it. And by the time he gets there he’s panting, pulling away from Zayn and stripping out of his clothes. He doesn’t care about putting on a show or trying to tease Zayn with it, taking his time just to torture him. Instead he moves quickly, Zayn following behind him.

“You should have already had a condom out,” Harry whines, fumbling around in Zayn’s drawer. “It’s empty. Fuck. Zayn, please don’t—”

“Wrong drawer,” Zayn says, pointing towards the one on the other side. “Same drawer as always.” He tosses the condom and lube down on the bed, staring at Harry. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and Harry stares, taking him in.

“I want to blow you. Can I blow you?” Harry asks and Zayn nods, motioning Harry over. He sits down on the edge of the bed and Harry kneels in front of him, resting his head on Zayn’s knee. “God, I feel like I’m about to burst.”

“Should we skip this bit then?”

“No,” Harry practically shouts, spreading Zayn’s legs wider. “No. I want this. You’re not going to deny me of it.”

“Alright, yeah,” Zayn mumbles, tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear. “You’re good then, go on.”

Harry nods and wets his lips, gripping Zayn at his base. He gives him a few strokes, slow and firm, flicking his wrist at the head. He spreads the pre-come on his hand, using it to spread across Zayn’s dick until he’s ready, his tongue flicking out against the slit.

Zayn groans, deep and low, like it’s being forcibly dragged out of him. His hand tightens in Harry’s hair but he’s just holding, not moving Harry more than he wants to. He’s considerate that way. Harry will have to change that.

He wraps his lips around Zayn’s cock and swallows him down, taking him as deep as he can.

“That’s good, babe, so good,” Zayn mumbles, thumb brushing against Harry’s cheek, feeling his dick in Harry’s mouth.

Harry takes him further and tries to push Zayn closer to desperation. He wants him to fuck his mouth, to buck his hips up and leave his throat bruised. He wants it so badly but Zayn’s holding back, eyes closed in pleasure as he pushes at the back of Harry’s head gently, helping to ease more of his cock into Harry’s mouth.

“You’re so pretty, Harry, you know. So pretty. And fuck I can’t,” Zayn groans, tightening his grip on Harry’s as hair as Harry pulls off, kitten licking the tip of his cock. “I want to—Can I—Fuck, Harry.”

“Yeah, you can fuck me,” Harry tells him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s what you want, right? To fuck me?”

Zayn nods and Harry grins, scrambling onto the bed. He lies on his stomach and pushes his ass up in the air, waiting impatiently. It’s exactly what he wanted, to get Zayn to want to fuck him. Well, it’s not exactly. He wanted Zayn to fuck his mouth, but this is fine. He’s not going to wait until now to get picky.

He feels Zayn’s hands on his ass, kneading at the skin. He spreads Harry open and then Harry feels the wet heat of his tongue against his hole. He groans, clutching at the bed sheets and trying to keep still because fuck yes.

Zayn’s tongue laps at his skin, concise circles as his hands hold him apart. It feels like a dream come true; Zayn’s tongue working him open, swirling around his hole and then pushing inside. Harry’s shaking at the sensation of it, knuckles white against the blanket.

“Oh god, Zayn. Holy shit,” Harry moans, feeling his stomach flip when Zayn’s fingers start to join his tongue. He works Harry open slowly and carefully, taking his time. He can hear – and feel – Zayn’s breathy laughs every time Harry curses, every time he begs for more and pushes back against Zayn’s face.

He’s stretched, so stretched and his cock is aching, rubbing against the mattress. He can feel the pre-come wetting the blankets and it’s almost painful, the need to get off.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Harry whines, reaching around for Zayn. He grabs a bit of his hair, tugging. “Just please. Just—oh god, hurry up.”

“Yeah, alright. You’re good, I’ve got you,” Zayn says, leaning down and kissing the center of Harry’s back. “I’ve got you, babe. You’re good.”

Harry grabs the condom and throws it at him, waiting impatiently for him to get it on. It’s like Zayn’s taking his time, like he doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation. They made out on the couch for an hour, Harry’s wound up and he needs release. He needs something more than fingers and a tongue. He needs Zayn. He needs the fullness and fuck; he just needs Zayn, so badly.

Zayn grabs his hips gently and pulls Harry up, his tip brushing against Harry’s ass. Harry closes his eyes and waits, feeling as Zayn pushes in slowly. It feels so good. So wonderful and amazing and Harry lets out a deep, guttural moan at the feeling, of being stretched and filled. It’s perfect. Just what he wanted.

“Still good?”

Harry nods, reaching out for Zayn. He grabs onto him and pulls him down, wanting to bring their mouths together. It’s an awkward angle, Harry’s head turned to the side and it’s mostly just their tongues and their teeth, as Zayn’s hips rock against his, pushing him inside deeper and deeper with every thrust.

“Feel so good, babe, you know?”

Harry nods and mumbles something, he’s not sure what the sounds were meant to be, what words he was trying to say because it’s so much. He’s too worked up, too close and Zayn’s too much for him. His cock is trapped between his body and the bed, the friction almost unbearable and he comes with a low groan, squeezing Zayn’s hand as his stomach knots and he releases, still trying to kiss Zayn.

Everything blurs white for a second and he can feel Zayn’s teeth against his shoulder, his hips moving faster and faster until he’s coming, moaning into Harry’s ear. Harry reaches around and rubs at his head, petting the hair, or trying to anyway. The angle is off and Harry wants to see Zayn, wants to kiss him and hold onto him. He wants to see Zayn’s face as he comes down, as his eyelids flutter open and he smiles at Harry dopily, kissing him on the shoulder.

He gets to see it this way but it’s not the same. It’s not and that’s fine but he can’t help it if he’s pouting when Zayn pulls out of him and he rolls over, trying to pull Zayn back down on top of him.

“We need to pull this blanket off.”

“No,” Harry whines, grabbing Zayn’s wrist with one hand and tossing the other over his eyes. “It’s on the top layer, we won’t know it’s there while we sleep.”

Zayn sighs and Harry peeks out from under his arm to see him nodding. He grabs a towel from off the floor and uses it to clean Harry up. Harry keeps his eyes covered and let’s Zayn tuck him into bed, lets him take care of him.

“You’re awful, you know that?” Zayn says, kissing Harry’s chin. “Lift your butt up so I can get this blanket over you.”

Harry obliges and then immediately rolls into Zayn, wrapping his arm around his waist. “You’re pretty great, you know?”

“Yeah, you too, Harry.”

+++

There are cheers around them, screams of encouragement. Harry has to close his eyes as Zayn steps out into the amphitheatre. A roar echoes around them, the sound of thousands of people waiting, wanting to see the fight, wanting to see them destroy each other.

It’s Zayn’s first time out. Harry remembers the feeling of dread when he was told he was fighting. The prisoner of war from another country, the boy with the warm eyes and dark hair.

Harry’s one fight away from freedom, at least that’s what he’s promised but he can’t do this. He can’t.

They’re signaled to start and Harry moves on shaky legs, the ground warm beneath his feet as he tracks Zayn’s movements. Maybe if they’re lucky, maybe if they can show that they’re worthy of putting on a decent fight then neither of them will have to die.

Zayn’s quick on his feet and he shouts words at Harry in another tongue, words that he can’t fathom what they are. It’s part of his technique, using his foreign words to distract Harry.

Zayn charges and Harry spins out of the way, but Zayn’s hand collides with his ribs, digging into the bone. Harry spins, swinging a leg up and it crashes into Zayn’s arm, causing him to stumble. It gives Harry enough time to move away, watching him.

But Zayn doesn’t want to give him a break, doesn’t want to give him a chance to catch his breath. He charges once more, colliding with Harry and throwing him to the ground. His foot hits Harry’s ribs, then his legs. He aims for the head and Harry rolls, moving away quickly and jumping back to his feet.

“Please no more,” Harry cries. He can’t do this. He can’t hurt Zayn. They’ve trained together. They’ve lain together – the training center gets lonely and when there are no words and life is uncertain, they do what they can, what they need to. “Zayn.”

The name seems to startle the other boy. He falters, breathing heavy as he stares at Harry. The crowd around them is growing restless, wanting more, demanding it. Zayn glances around at them, staring towards the emperor who watches, unimpressed with the pair of them.

Zayn screams and charges at him; pulling a dagger out of the leather around his thighs, holding it out towards him. Harry didn't know that they could--

Harry feels the knife go in and he gasps, staring at Zayn as he falls to the ground.

+++

Zayn convinces Harry to be productive with their time together; it’s how he ends up sat in Zayn’s kitchen with a stack of geography exams in front of him. It’s the wisest choice for how to spend their time, he’s behind on his grading and his kids are beginning to get demanding, wanting to know how they did on the test. Zayn must have heard them whining this afternoon when he walked by his classroom because there really is no explanation for why Zayn would torture him with geography tests.

“You know, if you hate me, you can tell me. I won’t be offended,” Harry says, marking another answer wrong. States and capitals are hard, he knows that, but he can’t tell if Dominick needs help – since he’s gotten almost all of them wrong – or if he just didn’t care. Purple being the capital of Alabama makes him believe the former instead of the latter. “Honestly, just tell me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Zayn says, drawing another smiley face on his sheet. “Nothing you’re grading can be that bad.”

“It’s just naming the capitals of the states in the South. We did the Northeast last week, so now we’re moving around the country.”

“That’s not that bad,” Zayn says, still not looking at Harry, instead he’s still drawing smiley faces and stars and having the time of his life grading a worksheet with pictures of animals on it.

“What even are you grading? How do you even grade a five year old?”

“Well, I kind of don’t,” Zayn admits, finally looking at Harry. “Like, this is a worksheet that helps them with their writing and spelling, by having them write down the name of animals.”

“So obviously you’re lenient on spelling.”

“Yeah, I mean, Lily spelled cat with a k instead of a c, which she knows the sounds, just not the right letter. So I corrected it, but I didn’t mark it wrong.”

“Okay.”

“And then there’s this one, he wrote lion instead of cat. And like, you can’t just mark that wrong.”

“Except the answer you’re looking for is cat.”

“A lion is a cat.”

“That’s not… That’s a picture of a cat,” Harry says, frowning.

“Technically, I guess. But a lion is a cat, so it’s not necessarily wrong. Yes it’s not the answer I wanted, but it is kind of right, so I give him half points for it because it’s a creative answer.” Harry raises an eyebrow, giving Zayn a look because that's the—It doesn’t make sense, not really, in an abstract sort of way, maybe. “I don’t like telling them they’re wrong,” Zayn says finally, sighing. “Unless you’re Collin here, because Collin has written frog instead of cat.”

“It’s creative, though.”

“Creative, yes. But it’s wrong. Maybe if it was an animal that looked like a frog, but that’s obviously a cat.”

“He spelled it right,” Harry says, watching as Zayn frowns, pen held between his lips.

“You’re right, maybe I should give him like, a fourth of a point?”

Harry laughs at that, hand clutched to his chest as Zayn shoves at his shoulder, annoyed and frustrated now that he’s second guessing the frown next to Colin’s frog.

+++

“The guards said you wished to see me.”

Harry closes his eyes and hopes that he’s making the right choice. The right choice for him. For his people. For his country.

“Yes, I do.” He pulls away from the window, pushing off the stone and moving swiftly towards the door. He holds his head up high, because he refuses to look defeated. “I wish to speak with you about an…arrangement of sorts. Something to satisfy us both.”

Zayn smirks through the barred door, fingers moving across the rods. “I’m afraid you’re not in a position of negotiation.”

“I came here of my own will. I came here to talk. It was you who chose the…less than satisfying living arrangement.”

“And what makes you think I care to satisfy you?”

Harry looks at him and this time it’s his turn to smirk. “I think we’re both aware of the answer to that. And if you wish to hear for that to remain hidden from your subjects then you will listen to what I have to say.”

“No one would believe you, even if you spoke the truth.”

“That is where you’re wrong, Zayn. The people speak of…indiscretions. The tales have travelled as far as my kingdom. I would merely have to say to the right thing.”

“And then we both die,” Zayn says, fist gripping the bars angrily. “And then what?”

“And then no one wins. This would all have been in vain.”

Zayn studies him momentarily, wetting his lips as he considers Harry’s offer. He’s dressed down, in his robes that tell Harry he pulled him away from a rest for this. There are no guards with him, which tells Harry everything that he needs to know. Zayn trusts him, even though he shouldn’t, and he knows that Harry is incapable of doing him the harm that he so wishes he could. But that’s why Harry’s here. So neither of them have to die this time.

“What do you want from me, Harry? What arrangement have you come to make?”

“Half of my kingdom, yours. The wars stop. You pull your men from my land. You cease to burn down my villages,” Harry says, firm and strong. He fixes Zayn with a look to let him know that this part is non-negotiable. He will not let anymore of his subjects die. “And we ban together. Together you and I could work towards a greater good.”

“Greater good?”

“Our troops will be stronger. There will be more of them if we can put them together, if we can use them against the other kingdoms instead of against each other.”

“And what purpose will this serve me, your surrender? What do I gain beyond land and an alliance?”

Harry smirks once more, stepping towards the barred door where Zayn stands. He places one hand on the door, the other he moves more carefully, wrapping it around Zayn’s hand, the skin soft and warm, exactly how he remembers it to be.

“You will gain me: a loyal and most forgiving partner. One who can look beyond being locked in your tower when I remember most fondly the quarters in which you reside,” Harry says. “That is what you will gain.”

+++

“I thought you said that you were going to help,” Harry says, dragging the rake across the ground. The weather is changing, beginning to get cooler outside and the trees in his backyard are beginning to drop their leaves, covering his yard almost entirely.

Harry’s been tired of the leaves, wanted to get them taken care of before anyone could complain. In the city everyone complained, always throwing fits about everything. He’s not sure if the same can be said out here, but he wants to rake the leaves anyway. And Zayn – along with Harley and Rhino – promised to not be a distraction for him, but rather a helper.

So much for that.

“I am helping,” Zayn says, kicking more leaves at his dogs, who both freak out, snapping their jaws in the air to try and catch one of the leaves. “I’m kicking the leaves and then eventually I’ll have my own pile, right about here.” He points down on the ground in front of his dogs.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works,” Zayn says, grinning at Harry over his shoulder. “You take leaf maintenance very seriously.”

Harry waits until he’s turned around before he digs the rake into his pile of leaves. He can show him serious. He scoops the leaves up, lifting the rake in the air and holding it above Zayn’s head. Harley barks, dropping down on his front legs and then jumping up, spinning in circles and going crazy, knowing that Harry’s got leaves.

“What’s the matter with you?” Zayn laughs, kicking another bit of leaves at his dogs.

“Oh, Zayn. Darling,” Harry sings, voice sweet and Zayn turns, his smile disappearing when Harry spins the handle on the take, watching as the leaves rain down on Zayn.

Harry barks out a laugh. There’s no other way to describe the sound that escapes him as he watches the look on Zayn’s face, the way his face drops as the leaves pour down over him. The dogs go mad beneath them, trying their hardest to catch all the leaves.

“Did you just—”

“I did, yeah.”

“That’s what I thought,” Zayn says, tackling Harry and sending them both into the pile that he’s worked so hard on gathering.

Harry rolls them around until he’s on top of Zayn, grabbing a handful of leaves and tossing them at him. Zayn bucks his hips up, shifting around wildly until he’s back on top, straddling Harry’s hips. He has both of his hands pinned to the ground, hands wrapped around Harry’s wrists.

“You threw leaves on me.”

“You said I was being serious.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t. And I was showing you that I wasn’t serious,” he says.

“You were being a menace,” Zayn says but there’s no heat to his words, he’s smiling, almost uncontrollably and Harry loves it. “Should we call a truce?”

“Only if you kiss me,” Harry says and Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning down to seal their truce with a kiss. Harry wishes he had control of his hands, wishes that he could tangle his fingers in Zayn’s hair and keep him there, hold onto him for a little bit longer.

“Come on, up you go,” Zayn says, pulling away and moving off of Harry. He stands and then helps Harry up, brushing leaves off Harry’s pants. “God, you’re a mess. It’s in your hair.”

Harry shakes his head like a wet dog, trying to get the leaves out of his hair. He grins at Zayn when he finishes but Zayn’s attention is behind Harry. “What’s wrong?”

“Your neighbor is watching us,” Zayn says, voice low as he stares down at the ground, kicking some of the stray leaves into the pile.

“I don’t care,” Harry says. He turns and sees that they are indeed being watched, his neighbor Susan doing nothing to hide the fact she’s staring at them, hands on her hips and eyes firmly planted on them. Harry waves at her, offering her a smile.

“You don’t care about much,” Zayn sighs, grabbing Harry’s wrist and turning him back around.

“I care about you,” Harry says, shrugging. It’s true and no neighbor spying on them is going to make him feel bad about it, or ashamed. If she’s allowed to be married and to sleep with the guy who bags the groceries at the grocery store, then he can be with Zayn.

Zayn smiles at him, his cheeks pink. “I figured that one out.”

“Alright, well that’s the one that matters, not her. Her or whoever else can’t control their gaze.”

“I didn’t say she mattered.”

“You looked embarrassed that she saw us.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“You looked like it.”

“Sometimes I don’t like being watched, Harry. We were enjoying ourselves, we were having fun.”

“Yeah and then she ruined it.”

Zayn sighs and rolls his eyes, kicking at the leaves on the ground. “Do you even know anyone in this town, Harry?” I know you, Harry thinks. “Besides me.”

Harry pauses and thinks about it for a moment.

“And not your students either,” Zayn adds as an afterthought.

Harry rolls his eyes at him this time because he wasn’t going to mention them. And yeah, he knows people. He knows Rosie and Ron, he knows his neighbors, he knows a few of the other teachers at work – admittedly, he doesn’t know them all, though – and he knows Sam, the butcher at the supermarket who gives him a little extra for Bongo sometimes. He doesn’t know them well, not enough to tell Zayn anything about their lives or…really anything besides their names and their jobs and bits of their personal lives that they’ve given up since he’s moved to town.

“Who’s anyone?” Harry asks, eyes squinted from the afternoon sun. It’s beginning to set behind Zayn, poking out from behind the trees and shining harshly in his eyes. It’s a fair question to ask, he thinks. Zayn obviously wants to hear a particular answer and until Harry knows what Zayn wants, he’s not sure what to say.

“People that aren’t me, Harry. Me and your students. Friends, people you can hang out with.”

“I hang out with you.”

“And?”

“And… I don’t know,” Harry stammers, tossing the rake down on the ground. “What’s the point of this?”

Zayn just laughs at him, grabbing Harry’s hand and tugging him towards the house. “Come on, go inside and get cleaned up. I’m going to introduce you to the guys tonight.”

“The guys? Who are the guys?”

“You’ll see,” Zayn says, tugging Harry forward. He pats him on the butt as he shoves Harry forward. “Just get cleaned up. I can’t have you looking like a mess. You smell like leaves and outside.”

“I smell manly,” Harry jokes, pausing to flex his muscles. Zayn rolls his eyes at him fondly, trying to bite back a laugh. Harry grins and follows behind him, allowing himself to be guided towards the shower.

+++

Apparently Zayn has a boys’ night with a group of guys once every couple weeks. It’s two blocks behind Harry’s house, in a small white and black house, with bicycles littering the front yard. It smells like cookies inside. It reminds Harry of his mom’s house, the warm comfort of home as he walks from the front door through the living room to the kitchen – where he meets a woman named Eleanor with a toddler on her hip, shaggy brown hair and shining blue eyes that growls at Harry when he says hello - and out the garage.

“This is Louis’ house,” Zayn tells him, lips pressed against his cheek. Louis. Louis. Fourth grade. Harry remembers Zayn mentioning him before. “That’s his wife inside and his youngest.

“Youngest?” Harry says, a little louder than he intended.

“I’ve got three of them,” someone says, stepping into the garage with them. “Assuming you’re talking about the kids. They’re one, four and six. Two girls and a boy. You’ve met the boy, I’m guessing.”

“I am,” Zayn says, turning and pulling Louis into a hug. “This is Harry.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him around,” Louis says, holding out his fist. Harry touches his own against Louis’. “Been waiting to meet you. It’s been a hectic year. I’ve got one of the largest classes in the school and they’re all a bunch of shits.”

“Louis loves teaching, don’t let him fool you.”

Louis sighs and shakes his head, like he’s ashamed of himself for loving his job. It makes Harry smile. “I do. That I do.”

“His middle child is in my grade,” Zayn says. “You’ll have the oldest next year. She’s the sweet one.”

“None of them are sweet.”

“The youngest growled at me.”

Louis cackles at that, positively beaming with pride as he passes Harry a beer. “He’s only one. It’s a bit of a phase but don’t worry, Phillip’s the sweet one. He just doesn’t like anyone near his mom right now.”

“Not even you?” Zayn asks, taking a beer from Louis. He grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him towards a couch. It’s the oddest garage that Harry’s ever been in, filled with storage boxes and furniture. It must be Louis’ retreat away from his family, his man cave…or whatever.

“Yes, and trust me, it’s just as frustrating as it sounds.”

He shakes his head and rubs at his forehead, sighing as he sits in the chair opposite them. There’s a loud laugh from inside and Zayn perks up, grabbing Harry’s knee and nodding towards the door where two more people walk in, a blond and one with a bashful grin. Harry recognizes him. He frowns and turns towards Zayn, trying to silently ask him who they are.

“You’re the new guy,” the blond says, plopping down on the couch next to Harry. “You’re the one Zayn’s been seen frolicking around town with, right?”

“I guess.”

“Is it true that you—” the other one starts, swallowing as he looks between Louis and Harry. “I mean; this probably isn’t appropriate to ask.”

“Go ahead and ask him then, Payno,” Louis says, grinning wickedly. “I’m sure Harry doesn’t mind, whatever it is.”

“Is it true that you left your family for Zayn?”

Harry chokes on his beer, bits of it spilling out of his mouth at the man’s – Payno’s? - accusation. Everyone laughs about it, Zayn and Louis and Niall, all of them cackling madly at him, pointing at him until his cheeks turn red.

“Oh fuck you, Louis. That’s the last time I listen to you about anything.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to him anyway, Liam. It’s not nice to make assumptions,” Zayn says, swatting at Liam’s legs. “And since you don’t know, this is Harry. Harry, that idiot is Liam and this one is Niall.”

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Niall mumbles, getting up to get more beers. “Why did you move here?”

“I got a job here,” Harry says. He’s not going to tell them his life story. He doesn’t know them. Niall seems like the type of person he could trust, though. Someone he could spill his deepest secrets to and they’d go to the grave, not another soul ever finding them out. Harry’s not sure about Louis and Liam, they seem like they’d promise to keep a secret and then turn around and tell each other, gossiping about it like they did with Harry’s imaginary life.

“That’s it? You gave up everything to move to this shit hole for a job?”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry mumbles and Zayn’s hand squeezes his knee gently, like he knows what some of the perks might be.

“No. None of that shit,” Louis says, waving his hand around, pointing towards Harry’s knee. “This isn’t couples’ night.”

“It’s lads’ night,” Niall supplies and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Lads and boy night,” Louis corrects and this time Liam rolls his eyes, picking up a magazine and tossing it at Louis. “You have to earn the title, Liam. It’s not going to just be handed to you like it’s nothing.”

“You’ve just met Harry.”

“Zayn put in a good word for him. You wouldn’t want me to go against Zayn’s word, would you?”

“Everyone here can put in a good word for me as well.”

“Eh,” Niall mumbles, shrugging.

“Sophia’s pregnant, you know. That should qualify me as more than just a boy.”

“I’m afraid not,” Louis says. “And what about you, Harry? Do you actually have any kids?”

“No and I’ve never been married,” Harry says. “I do have a cat, though, which I think Zayn would say means that I have a son but… he’s a cat.”

“How unfortunate,” Louis mutters. “I’ve got a couple cats. My daughters think they’re the greatest things to ever walk the earth. Princess and Angel. They’re both demonic.”

“They can probably sense that you don’t like them.”

“No, they’re just assholes,” Niall says. “His girls spoil the shit out of them so they know who to play nice with.”

“Do you have kids?” Harry asks and Niall laughs, clapping Harry on the back. He wasn’t aware he had said anything funny but Niall seems to think he’s just said the best punch line he’s ever heard, judging by his laugh.

“I play the field, Harry. I’m currently dating a very lovely girl.”

“His third this month,” Louis mumbles.

“No that’s not true,” Zayn defends. “Niall and Madison have been together a while. Nearly a year, if I remember correctly.”

“You do remember correctly. She’s recently put a bunch of her shit into my closet. I nearly had a stroke when it happened, had to lie down on the floor and calm down for a little while. But it’s fine. I’m fine,” Niall says, looking at everyone pointedly, trying to confirm his point. “It’s fine. She’s great. She’s nice. And I’m worried my mom will kill me if I mess this up.”

“I thought you two broke up a couple months ago,” Liam says, bushy eyebrows bunched together as he thinks. “I remember you bringing a Natalie to my house. I’ll have to ask Sophia but I’m almost positive.”

“Okay listen,” Niall says, holding up a hand. “There was a little…break period. And I almost lost my man bits for the thing with Natalie so don’t bring it up, please. I’m begging you.”

“Your secret is safe with us,” Louis says, stretching his legs out. “No one to tell besides my wife, anyway. And she’d tell me to mind my own business.”

“Which you should,” Zayn says. Harry turns to look at him. He knows that they’re not supposed to do couple things but Harry really would like to tuck himself under Zayn’s arm, press against him and watch the four of them interact. “You good?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Just…you know, taking it all in. I guess.”

“They’re a handful, I know.”

“They’re nice.” Zayn makes a face and Harry laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. The other three are talking, giving the two of them a moment of privacy. “Do they all work at the school?”

“Liam and Louis do, yeah. But Niall went to high school with the two of them. They’ve lived here all their lives, so that’s how they know each other. He’s been in and out of jobs these past couple months, it’s hard sometimes.”

Harry nods because it makes sense, the way that the three of them interact, like they’re used to operating in a unit. Harry doesn't want to think that Zayn isn’t a part of that – or that it would be impossible for him to join in – but it feels different, the interactions of the other three in regards to them. Maybe he’s just imagining it, though.

“So now that conversation is out of the way, are we ready to start the movie?”

“What movie?”

“We’re currently working our way through the James Bond movies,” Liam explains.

“I’m going to get popcorn,” Louis says and Niall jumps up, volunteering to help him.

“We’re currently on License to Kill,” Liam continues, like Louis never said anything. “So we’re like, halfway through them or whatever. Close to half? Isn’t there like, thirty of them?”

“Twenty-something,” Zayn says to Liam before he turns towards Harry. “We got into an argument a while back, about who the best Bond was, so we’ve been watching them to try and figure it out.”

“Don’t tell him what you think, Zayn,” Louis shouts, stumbling back into the garage with a bowl of popcorn and a DVD. “We’re not going to have him swayed because you’re pulling the boyfriend moves on him. He can watch the movies and make an educated answer like the rest of us.”

“I’ve missed half of them.”

“Then it looks like you’ve got some homework,” Louis says, grinning.

“Natural born teacher, isn’t he?” Niall says, handing Harry his bowl of popcorn. “One for them and one for us, to keep it fair. But since there’s three of us over ere, don’t be afraid to shove your hand in their bowl.”

“I doubt he’s worried about that, Niall,” Liam mutters. “Who’s in charge of turning off the lights this week?”

“New guy.”

“I’ll do it,” Zayn says, leaning over the side of the couch. The room darkens considerably, the soft blue glow of the television lighting the room now. Zayn sits back down and puts an arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him back against his chest.

Niall doesn’t seem bothered by the cuddle, instead he props his feet up on the table, setting the bowl of popcorn down on Harry’s lap for easy access for everyone.

“What James Bond is this?” Harry whispers, loud enough for only Zayn to hear.

“I have no idea. I only know Sean Connery and Daniel Craig. This isn’t really my argument, I just liked winding Louis up,” Zayn admits. He grins at Harry in the dark, reaching out for some of the popcorn.

Harry sighs and settles back against the couch, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder as the movie starts. He can’t quite place his finger on it but these boys feel familiar, like he’s known them forever. It’s the strangest thing and he doesn’t understand it one bit but there’s this—this feeling inside of him that he’s known these boys longer than just tonight.

It wouldn’t be unheard of, for him to know someone in this room longer than the first time they said hello, but he really can’t remember them. It’s not even fuzzy in his mind; it’s just a feeling in his gut. It’s in the easy way that they all mesh together, like a five piece puzzle.

Zayn’s fingers scratch at his scalp, pulling Harry out of his mind and back into reality. He turns his head and kisses the palm of Zayn’s hand quickly and quietly. Niall smirks at him and Harry sticks out his tongue, playful and teasing. Niall pats him on the thigh and turns back to the movie.

“You see, this is why he’s not the best Bond, look at him,” Louis says.

“Louis, not while the movie’s on.”

“Yeah, Louis. Shut up for once.”

“I’m just saying. If you had been paying attention you’d have checked him off your list for best Bond.”

“Sorry, they’re a bit much,” Zayn whispers, lips in Harry’s hair.

“No,” Harry says, watching the three of them argue. “I kind of like them.”

+++

The steady thrum of Zayn’s heart wakes Harry in the middle of the night. His neck is stiff from sleeping in the chair, his hand still locked together with Zayn’s. He strokes his thumb along the wrinkled skin, remembering when they were young and Zayn’s skin was smooth and taut.

He lets go of Zayn’s hand to stretch, to move his tired, aching limbs.

They’ve been in the hospital for three days, since Zayn took the fall and broke his wrist and his hip. Harry had been out in the garden when it happened, picking tomatoes out of the vegetable garden. He heard the crash and then Zayn’s shout.

Everything was a blur after that, a blur as Zayn was taken in the ambulance, a blur as their daughter helped him into the car to follow.

Harry had cried, head tucked in his elbow when he found out that Zayn was alright, that he’d be fine.

Zayn’s hand finds his, fingers curling around Harry’s in the dark.

“Are you awake?” Harry asks, voice quiet just in case.

“Mm,” Zayn hums, pillow rustling as he turns his head to face Harry. “You were thinking too loud.”

“Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down next time.”

Zayn laughs, soft and it fills Harry’s heart. Zayn’s alive and he’s okay, that’s all that matters to him. It’s been three days of pressing his thumb to the pulse point in Zayn’s wrist, checking to make sure that he can feel the beating of his heart. It’s not enough to hear it on a machine; Harry needs to feel it.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your fall. Your life.”

“Hmm, sounds like complicated thoughts to be having this late at night.”

“No, it’s the perfect thoughts to be having,” Harry corrects. He can’t help it. It feels like they’re testing fate, and something about this feels final. Like it’s the last time that Harry will have Zayn, like he won’t come back another time to find Zayn all over again. It feels like the end of Zayn and Harry. There’s no way that there can be more.

“You should get into bed with me,” Zayn says and Harry laughs because he can’t move, even if he wanted to. “Fifty years of sharing a bed together and this damn hospital makes you sleep on the chair.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t of broken your hip…”

“Shut up.”

Harry laughs, leaning forward. He rests his head on the side of the chair, smiling at Zayn. “Our daughter wants to put us in a home, you know. Well, she said that after I said we weren’t moving in with her. She thinks—well, she thinks we’re old.”

Zayn laughs at that, finding more humor in Harry’s words than necessary. Harry watches him, watches as the pain medicine eases his pain and allows him the ability to laugh without wincing. He’ll feel it later, when it wears off, but for now Harry laughs with him, laughs with him while he still can.

+++

The brisk air of fall gives Harry more incentive to get out of the house. He no longer has the sheen of sweat forcing his shirts to cling to his body. Nor is he constantly brushing the back of his hand across his forehead in an attempt to stay dry. It’s nice.

Ashville is beautiful in the fall, the trees orange and red, with mountains of leaves on the ground. Apparently leaves aren’t a problem here, not like Harry thought they would be with his own yard. Which is good, since Zayn and Harry didn’t seem to get anywhere when they tried to rake the leaves.

He’s walking through the park, or what’s supposed to be the park. It’s mostly a square in the center of town where the fountain is and park benches and a playground like the one at the school. So it is a park, but it’s not like the ones in the city. There’s no fancy extras, no rock wall or rows upon rows of swings and different playgrounds to choose from, just the bare minimum. But everyone seems happy enough. The park is alive and Harry can feel the energy of the place in his bones.

It’s nice and Harry finds that it’s one of the only things about Ashville that does resemble home, or what used to his home.

Louis is at the park. He waves at Harry from the playground, where two little girls are tugging on his arms. One of them is the spitting image of Louis, except her cheeks are little rounder, her hair long and pulled back in a braid. Louis looks exasperated and fond, nodding his head and getting a cheer out of both the girls.

There seems to be a commotion around the fountain, the majority of the people in the park are gathered around it, watching and laughing. Harry frowns and moves towards it, curiosity getting the best of him.

He should have known what was going on. He’s only heard stories about it a million different times.

Harry can’t actually see the fountain, but he can see Rhino. He’s leaning over the edge, tailing wagging as he barks. He doesn’t stay in place long, jumping down to rush towards another part, diving between people’s legs to get to the edge.

Which can only mean one thing. And Harry grins despite himself, thrilled with the fact he gets to watch Zayn wrestle Harley out of the fountain.

Rhino notices him, as he gets closer, sprinting towards him and diving on his legs. Harry leans down to greet him, laughing as Rhino tries to lick his face.

“So you’re the good boy,” Harry says, scratching under his chin. “Or are you just too short to join your brother, huh? Is that what it is? You’re not big enough to get into the fountain yet?”

Rhino whines, nipping at Harry’s fingers when he stops petting him.

“We should go help your daddy,” Harry tells him, getting his arms around the dog and lifting him up, carrying him towards the fountain. Rhino stays in his arms happily, licking at Harry’s cheek.

Zayn’s sopping wet when Harry finally pushes through the crowd. He’s got Harley out of the water and he’s holding onto him by the collar, hooking him up to the leash. Rhino barks at them and Zayn looks up, his hair dripping onto his face and his shirt sagging down his thighs at the weight of the water.

Harry laughs. It’s all he can do. It’s the funniest thing that he’s ever seen. Zayn and his dog soaked with fountain water and both of them looking grumpy, Harley because he wants back in and Zayn because he’s wet in the first place.

The crowd around them is moving away, finally and Harry’s still laughing, still holding onto Rhino and properly wheezing. His cheeks hurt and his lungs need air but he can’t stop, tears are forming in his eyes and he probably looks deranged, cackling in the park like a madman.

Eventually Zayn’s sour expression weakens until he’s laughing too, not as hard but he’s laughing and that's enough for Harry. Because how could Zayn not have seen the humor in this situation?

“You’re soaked,” Harry wheezes, trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes. “Your dog was in the fountain—Oh god. This is the best.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Zayn laughs.

Rhino barks again and then Harley shakes, water splashing out on them. Harry’s laughter stops, his body feels like it’s been jolted. The water is freezing and it’s not as funny now that he’s wet too. Not as wet, but still wet. Zayn must be so cold, judging by the goose bumps and the light chatter of his teeth and the hardness of his nipples. Harry is really not going to stare at them in public. He’s courteous, dammit.

“That’s really cold.”

“Yeah, now you know why I didn’t find it so funny,” Zayn says. He pulls another leash out of his back pocket and hooks Rhino up. Harry sets him down on the ground and takes the leash from Zayn, watching as Rhino jumps on Harley and bites his ears.

“He was in the fountain.”

“I told you he likes to do that.”

“I know you did, but it’s kind of like—I don’t know. It’s like one of those stories people tell where you believe them but you don’t necessarily know that it’s true until you see it for yourself.”

“Yeah well, my dog’s a fountain addict.”

“It could be worse,” Harry reasons and Zayn shrugs, scratching the top of Harley’s head. “Come on, let’s get you dry and warm. I’ve got cocoa at my house.”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn mumbles. Harry wraps his arm around his shoulders. He’s going to get wet like this but that’s fine. He did laugh mercilessly at the sight of Zayn wet and cold so he sort of deserves it. “You’re going to wash my hair, you know.”

“Does that mean we’re showering together?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, it means you’re washing my hair. You can shower by yourself.”

“Hot water is hard to come by these days, Zayn. It’s best if we share.”

“Well, it’s a long walk to your place, hopefully by then you can convince me that I’m not annoyed with you.”

“You’re not annoyed,” Harry says, leaning into Zayn and nipping his chin. “I’ll warm you in the shower then we’ll have cocoa and lie on the couch and be proper lazy, how does that sound?”

Zayn shrugs but he’s smiling, Harry thinks he might have won already.

+++

“What is that?”

“Don’t freak out,” Harry says, stepping in front of the black cat. Maybe if Maggie can’t see it then she won’t freak out. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“There’s a cat in the house.”

“Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I won’t freak out,” she says, setting her purse down on the couch.

“Okay good,” Harry sighs, bending down to lift the cat up off the ground. “Remember the stray that I’ve been telling you about? The one that hangs out outside of work?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“This is him.”

“You brought him home?” Harry nods, biting down on his lip. “And you want to keep him?” Harry nods again. Maggie looks at him and then at the cat and then back to him. Harry does his best to look like a sad puppy, making his eyes big and frowning, silently begging. Harry’s seen the cat there everyday for three weeks, so it obviously doesn’t have anyone. The cat needs him, just as much as they need him. Or something like them.

Maggie sighs and shakes her head. “There’s no saying no to that face, is there?”

“No, I really am the cutest.”

“I was talking about the cat,” Maggie laughs, stepping forward to get a look at the cat. Harry adjusts him in his arms, turning his body sideways so she can get a good look at him. “What are we going to name him?”

Harry hadn’t thought he’d win this fight, so he really didn’t think about a name. He looks down at the cat, taking in his black fur and green eyes. Outside they looked almost orange, but here, in the soft glow of his living room they’re green, it’s the weirdest thing that he’s ever seen. But it’s beautiful and amazing and special, just like the cat in his arms.

“You look like a Zayn, don’t you?” Harry asks, scratching the under cat’s chin. The cat’s purr vibrates against the pad of skin, the action strong and loud. “I think we should name him Zayn.”

“Zayn,” Maggie says, resting her face against Harry’s arm as she joins him in petting the cat. “I like it. And I think he likes you.”

Zayn proves her point by pressing his paws to Harry’s chest, rubbing his face against Harry’s.

“I think he’s just happy to be inside, away from those gross people that I work with.”

“No, I think it’s you,” Maggie says. She smiles at Harry, pulling away from him. She pats him on the arm and heads towards the next room. “I’m going to start dinner, show Zayn around his new home.”

“Yeah, you want to see your new home?” Harry asks and the cat meows, eyes shining. “I think you’ll like it here. We’ve got a bed for you down here, right by the fireplace. We call it a couch, but I’m sure you’ll call it a bed.”

Zayn meows, rubbing at his jaw again.

“We have another bed for you in our room,” Harry says, nodding as he walks up the stairs. “You can sleep in our bed.”

Zayn pushes away from him, jumping down on the ground and running up the stairs next to Harry. He stops at the top, looking down before he bolts, running towards the end of the hall, towards their bedroom.

+++

Harry takes Zayn to the pizzeria this time. It feels like an anniversary of sorts. It’s not one but they’ve been together a couple months now and Harry feels like treating the other boy, treating him to something more than just his living room.

Rosie seems delighted to see them, ushering them back to a table with a bounce in her steps.

“I wasn’t sure when I was going to see you two again,” she says, handing them both their menus. “Do you even need to look at those or do you know what you want?”

“Can I get ravioli this time?” Harry asks. Pizza doesn’t sound appealing. “And a beer.”

“Yeah, me too. That sounds good,” Zayn says, passing their menus back. “And what made you think that you wouldn’t see us again? You know I always come back to you, Rose.”

“Honeymoon stage always lasts the longest, doesn’t it?” She says and Harry raises an eyebrow, looking from Zayn to her. “I’ve got eyes on you boys. I know you spend more time together than apart, I’m old but I’m not dumb.”

“You’re still my number one,” Zayn tells her and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re a flirt,” she cries. “Harry, watch out for this one. He’s trouble! I’ll go give Ron these orders and have your drinks out to you soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, alright? This is a family place.”

Harry holds his hands up above the table, grinning at her as she walks away.

“Your girlfriend has been spying on us,” he says, staring disapprovingly at Zayn. “I wonder if she knows my nosey neighbor.”

“Everyone does.”

“Maybe she’s not as nosey as I thought, now that I know Rosie has half the town spying on us. Maybe more. Maybe everyone here is a spy.” Harry glances around and sees that far less people are watching them this time. Harry’s novelty must have worn off, now that they know how boring he is.

“Maybe they think you’re a spy,” Zayn says, nodding when he gets Harry’s attention. “You’re a foreign spy and you’re here undercover.”

“I’m a researcher, studying the psychological effects of living in a small town.”

“You’re a serial killer, on the run from the police.”

“You can do better than that,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Louis came up with me being a cheater with a family.”

“Where does your wife think you’re at, Harry? Did you tell her that you were leaving her?”

“An international super spy doesn’t have a wife. Like James Bond, I just pick up pretty people as I go, a new one for every mission.”

“Are you calling me your Bond girl?”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “My Bond boy. Man. My Bond man.”

“You’re never going to get me running out of the ocean looking sexy in skimpy swimwear, though.”

“I don’t know, you looked pretty sexy stumbling out of the fountain the other week.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head. Rosie stops at their table, setting down their beers and their ravioli. Harry feels like he should be worried that it’s finished so quickly but he doesn’t care, he’s starved. Zayn waits until she’s gone to say, “You’re an ass.”

“You love it, though. You love that about me.”

“You’re mildly tolerable. Although for a super spy, you’re terribly boring. I could probably have a better conversation with a rock.”

“A rock?”

“I’m sorry, that was mean,” Zayn laughs and Harry shrugs. It wasn’t as mean as Zayn thinks it was. And he knows that Zayn is joking, teasing him. “Should we call a truce?”

Harry lifts up his beer and shrugs, putting it to his lips and draining the liquid slowly and carefully. It’s been a long week. His class is still trying to grasp the concept of the Civil War – which probably does go over the head of an eight year old, to be fair – and the solar system is proving harder than Harry thought it would be. Apparently his kids don’t understand how a planet can be a planet and then be kicked out. Which to be fair, Harry doesn’t really understand the snub Pluto faced either. He thinks it’s bullshit but he’s a teacher, so he teaches the facts provided to him and tries not to discredit NASA in the process.

It’s been stressful and he hasn’t seen Zayn as much as he’d like, not since the night at the fountain. But Zayn’s been busy too, he thinks. Or at least he hopes so, because he doesn’t want to be the person that gets so wrapped up in their own life and makes the other feel like they’re not just too busy but too busy for them. Although Zayn’s a big boy, he has a life of his own and he doesn’t seem bothered by Harry wanting to spend his week in bed, whining to his cat about how many assignments he has to grade.

Rosie drops another round of beers on their table and Harry nods in satisfaction.

“How do we call a truce?” Harry asks and Zayn grins, leaning across the table to kiss him. He tastes like marinara and beer and something else, something pleasant that’s always there when they kiss. “That’s a good way.”

“I thought you might like it.”

“You know me well, don’t you?”

Zayn shrugs and stabs at his pasta, motioning for Harry to do the same.

+++

When they leave the pizzeria, Harry is buzzed. His belly full of dinner and alcohol, just enough to make him feel warm and pliant, but not enough that he worries about getting home safe, about getting Zayn home safe. Zayn’s worse for wear, stumbling and giggling as Harry guides them through town. He walks past their cars, because while he does trust himself to get home safely, that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to drive. He doesn’t. He’d rather not risk it, even if his house weren’t that far away.

“You’re not normally this heavy,” Harry groans, fitting his hand on Zayn’s waist and hoisting him up.

Zayn giggles, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pressing his face into his neck. He licks at the skin and then grins at Harry as he pulls away. Harry rolls his eyes fondly, continuing to lug Zayn down the street.

“You’re very serious sometimes, you know that?”

“I feel like you’ve told me this before.”

“Might have. I might have. But you are. Don’t know what to do with you since you’re always so serious.”

“Hopefully you’ll be singing my praises by the time we get home. You’ll need someone to help get you into bed and get some water into your system so you don’t wake up with a headache and grumpy.”

“Are we going back to your house? Where are we going?”

“Yeah, we’re going to mine,” Harry says, turning a corner. There’s no one out so it’s nice and quiet, just the sound of the crickets and them, Harry’s breathing mixed in with Zayn’s humming. It’s a song that Harry’s never heard before, but it’s nice. Zayn’s voice is nice. Harry’s only heard it a few times, when he’s grading papers and when he’s doing the dishes or the laundry. Harry thought it was something he did when he thought Harry wasn’t paying attention but now he thinks it’s subconscious, an action he doesn’t even realize he’s doing half the time.

“’m tired,” Zayn mumbles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you tired?”

“A bit. We’ll sleep when we’re back at mine. It’s just a couple blocks from here.”

“Sleep,” Zayn slurs, smiling to himself. “You know I dream about you, Harry.”

“Yeah? You dream about me?”

“All the time,” Zayn admits. “Just had one the other night.”

“You wanna tell me what it was about it?” It’s not much longer and talking, for some unknown reason, forces Zayn to shift his weight, making it easier for Harry to get them home.

“It’s like really old. Like…it feels like a movie. Sepia. It feels like what sepia looks like. Those old pictures, you know?”

“Why do they feel like that?”

“Because it’s like we’re living in them. It’s you and me. It’s just the two of us in a cabin. We live in a cabin; can you believe that? I wouldn’t want to live in a cabin, it’s drafty and cold and dirty, so dirty.”

“Do you know that because you’ve lived in one? Or because you’ve dreamed about us living in one?”

“The dream. I guess. But it feels real. I think I might have lived in it,” he says, frowning. “But it’s so cold. And eventually we’re trapped there, because the snow is really bad outside and it just doesn’t stop. It snows for days. And I’ve—I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Harry’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, like a bucket of water crashing down on him, leaving no spot untouched. He can’t place it but this sounds familiar.

“You’re cold all the time, so cold. And your nose is always pink. The night it starts we didn’t start a fire, like we should have. You went to sleep cold, telling me about how you wanted a goat, how you didn’t like horses because people treat them poorly. You went to sleep cold and when we woke up in the morning, our wood was covered in snow. It was coming down so heavy; I had to get inside, to keep you warm, to keep you from getting sick like everyone else.

I don’t remember anyone else but I remember you. You did get sick. Not then…not that time. But later in the winter, after the snow stopped. You had been so cold and we didn’t have—there wasn’t a lot of food. And I did my best to stop it but you got sick and it was—” Zayn stops and shakes his head.

Harry feels his knees go weak, his legs shaking. He lets go of Zayn and staggers, grabbing onto a stop sign to keep from falling to the ground. His head is spinning and he has to press his forehead against the cool metal of the sign to catch his break, to stop from freaking out.

“I think that’s why you looked so familiar when we first met,” Zayn says, stumbling towards Harry and wrapping himself around the pole, looking pensive and Harry has to close his eyes. “Because I had been dreaming about you for so long.”

“You dream about it,” Harry gasps, blinking his eyes open to look at Zayn. “About me. You’ve been dreaming about me.”

“I already said that,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “Have you not been listening to me? Anyway, I read somewhere that you can only dream about faces that you’ve seen before. You might not remember seeing them, but you’ve seen them. Your mind can’t just make up people. That must mean we’ve been around each other at some point.”

Harry doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes once more and breathes. Zayn remembers him. He doesn’t know it and he doesn’t understand but that’s been them, some form of them living in that cabin and bearing the cold together. He knows it and so does Zayn.

+++

Zayn falls asleep shortly after they go to get back to Harry’s. Harry helps him out of his clothes and into bed, forcing him to drink a glass of water before he lies down. Harry takes his time joining him, stripping and showering, leaning against the wall and trying to get his head together.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for that to happen but Zayn’s sleeping, Bongo curled up next to his head, when Harry steps out of the bathroom, shutting down the house. He crawls into bed carefully and silently, lying down on his side and facing Zayn.

There’s so much he wants to know, about Zayn’s dreams, how long he’s been having them, if he ever tried to find the meaning behind them. He’s not going to tell him. He’ll know, eventually, whether it’s tomorrow or a thousand years from now, he’ll know. They always do, eventually.

He had thought—he had hoped that there was more to their story this time around, more than just two boys with broken hearts wanting to get away. There had to be more, more than just a small town and nosey neighbors and a tiny school in the middle of nowhere. There’s always more. It’s how it works.

Harry just feels so full, like his chest could explode from feelings. Feelings for Zayn that have been building up for longer than they’ve known each other, longer than he’s been alive. He feels like he’s floating, sat on a cloud and watching as reality drifts away from him, only the string that connects him to Zayn keeping him from getting too far.

Everything comes back to this boy, to this boy lying next to him.

Zayn groans in his sleep, his legs twitching under the blanket. Harry watches as his eyebrows furrow, his face contorting for a second before he relaxes, breathing out calmly. Harry smiles and leans forward, kissing Zayn’s shoulder softly. He doesn’t need to worry; everything will be fine.

+++

On Saturday afternoons Harry goes to the park. It’s a habit, one that formed by chance. Jett, his beagle, loves the habit. It started because of him, when he was a puppy that Harry had to drag around during leash training.

It’s been five years since then and Jett’s a natural now, trotting next to Harry happily and confidently, like he owns this park. Harry can’t help but laugh at him as they move, watching as his dog shoves his face in a flowerbed.

“Come on, now. You don’t need that,” Harry says, tugging gently on the leash. “Our bench is just over there.”

Jett pulls his head out of the flowers, stares blankly ahead for a second before he sneezes. He moves with ease after that and Harry guides him towards their bench. It’s not actually theirs, but it’s the one that Harry likes to rest there on. Likes to pull out his book and read for a bit before they turn around and head back home.

Jett jumps up next to him and curls up, knowing the routine.

“Good boy,” Harry says, patting his dog’s side. He pulls his book out of his pocket and folds his legs, making himself comfortable.

It’s an hour or so later when he sees him. Harry’s not sure of the actual time, only that he’s read three chapters and he’s ready to go back home when he sees the familiar figure.

Zayn’s not alone. There’s a woman with him, long legs and slim frame. She has blond hair that frames her face, short and wild, her curls tight. Their hands are interlocked and Harry stares. He doesn’t mean to but—he was beginning to give up, beginning to think that this was another life spent without Zayn.

They walk passed Harry and he sees the glinting rings on her finger, one diamond and one silver band. There’s an identical band on Zayn’s, fourth finger, and left hand.

He looks happy. He looks— Harry shakes his head, he doesn’t want to think about Zayn being happy and in love with someone else. Zayn glances at Harry as they pass, offering him a friendly smile before he turns his attention back to the woman, laughing at whatever she’s just said. Harry can’t hear anything, just the ringing in his ears.

Zayn doesn’t remember him.

He grabs his book and the leash, motioning for Jett to get off the bench. “Come on, boy. We’re going home,” he mutters.

Maybe it is a life without Zayn. A different kind of life than the one he imagined having.

+++

It’s late and Harry’s sat on his couch wearing nothing more than a pair of briefs. There’s a bag of assorted wafers at his side and Bongo on the other, purring into his thigh as he sleeps. He’s watching a crime show, the ones that showcase the crimes people commit and how forensics solved them.

It’s addicting television and Harry can’t take his eyes off the screen. It’s the husband. Of course it is. It’s always the husband and any detective that thinks differently is a moron. They should have just arrested the man immediately. Harry would have. He was at the scene of the crime and he doesn’t have an alibi and he found out the wife was cheating and he just took out a new insurance policy, honestly Harry’s going to start chucking wafers at the men on screen if they don’t do what he wants.

There’s a knock on Harry’s door and he jumps, sending wafers cascading to the floor. Bongo jumps too, staring wide-eyed around the room.

He clutches his heart as he stumbles to the door. It’s too late for anyone to be here and he’s watching crime TV so he doesn’t need this right now. He’s scared.

He checks through the blinds and sees that it’s Zayn.

“You can’t just show up at my house unannounced,” Harry says, swinging the door open. “I’m trying to solve a murder, I almost had a heart attack.”

Zayn cocks an eyebrow, glancing at Harry and then towards the television. “You get scared easily?”

“Only when I’m seeking justice,” Harry says. He’s s detective, what does Zayn expect from him? Well, he’s not a real detective, but he’s trying to be. It totally counts. “And what are you doing here? Come inside.”

“I didn’t come here to hang out.”

“Okay then what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go get dressed, I want to show you something.”

“This late at night?”

Zayn sighs and nods, pushing Harry into the house as he steps inside. “Yeah. I’ve got a plan. Can you just trust me?”

“I never said I didn’t.”

Harry follows Zayn into his bedroom where he starts tossing clothes at him, a pair of sweatpants, a white shirt and a hoodie, something to keep him warm. Harry frowns at the choice of clothes, stepping into the pants and staring at Zayn suspiciously. It’s almost midnight, too late to be doing anything other than eating wafers and playing detective.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Zayn smiles and shakes his head. “Put on shoes. Come on; don’t make me wait all night. Hurry up.”

“You’re bossy,” Harry mumbles. “I kind of like it. In fact, I like it so much, why don’t we stay here?”

“No, you’re not seducing me. Come on, please. I promise you’ll love it, okay? Just trust me. Can you do that?”

Harry sighs and nods, making a show of grabbing his shoes from off the floor next to his bed. Zayn smiles back at him, pleased.

+++

Harry should have watched Love Actually like he wanted to instead of trying to play detective. If he had, then he wouldn’t be so afraid of where Zayn’s taking him. He’s not afraid of Zayn or what they’re about to do, but he is afraid of how they’re walking further and further towards the edge of town, where the houses begin to spread out before there’s miles between them. A few of students live further away, where the roads are still gravel and dirt and it takes an hour – sometimes two, depending on how far out they live – to get into town.

He’s never been interested in going to see what’s there besides a bunch of trees and nothingness. But Zayn seems interested, he’s walking in front of Harry with a blanket in his hand. Harry’s carrying his wafers, it didn’t feel right leaving them behind.

“Are you still not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’re almost there,” Zayn says. “We just have to cut through those trees.”

Harry looks ahead and then rubs at his face. It’s dense woods, with tons of leaves on the ground since the trees are growing so close together. It’s not the kind of place that Harry would go during the day, let alone in the middle of the night. And he’s shocked to know that Zayn does, that he frequents in the woods.

Eventually the trees thin out, becoming less frequent until there is none, revealing an area that’s maintained by someone. The grass is too low for it not to belong to someone. Harry hopes that they’re not trespassing.

“What is this?” Harry asks and Zayn grabs his hand, guiding Harry towards the center of the clearing. He lets go and unfolds the blanket, laying it down on the ground.

Zayn kneels down on the blanket. “Come on, get down here.” He pats the spot next to him and then lies down, arms folded under his head.

Harry obeys and lies down on the blanket, staring up at the night sky. It’s better than any sky he’s ever seen before. The sky is littered with stars; it looks like someone sprinkled silver glitter on black velvet. It makes him feel small, to know there are that many out there, to see a glimpse of the galaxy.

“I’ve never seen this many stars before. It’s almost like… I don’t know. I feel like I can see everything.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? There’s nothing stopping you from seeing them here. And just imagine, other places, places where it’s just wildlife, just animals and trees and nature, their view is even better than this.”

“I’ve never paid the stars much attention. In the city you can’t see them. They’re nothing there. I never thought to look up while I was here, to see what they look like so far from everything.”

Zayn scoots closer to Harry, pressing their legs together as they stare up at the sky. It’s beautiful and Harry can’t imagine how Zayn held onto this place so long, or why he snuck out here alone. He can but he can’t. It’s just another way in which they are different, he supposes.

“How often do you come out here?” Harry asks.

“Less than I used to,” Zayn admits. “I used to always come here when things got a bit difficult, when I was still getting over my break up, when my students gave me an extra hard day, when I missed my mom.” He laughs at that part and Harry imagines that he’s blushing. “I’d have a rough day – rough week, whatever – and then I’d come here.”

“How did you know about this?” Harry asks. They’re in the woods, in some clearing that feels too eerie to be random.

“It was like; the third week I had lived here. Things were hard. Everyone was constantly watching me and it got to me, I guess. So I went out on a walk one night and—”

“In the woods?”

“It wasn’t actually night, but yeah. In the woods. When the sun went down I was still here. I looked up and there it was, the best thing about Asheville,” Zayn sighs. “It’s taken care of, whom, but I’ve never seen anyone back here before. I’ve tried to figure out why, tried to wait around and see. I think it’s a spot that people clear out for deer, to attract them for hunting season. I hope not, though,” he sighs, grabbing Harry’s hand in the dark. “I like to imagine that I’m the only one who knows about it, that it’s my spot. It feels like mine. Like my special place.”

“So why are you sharing it with me?” Harry asks.

“If I was going to share this with anyone, I’d choose you,” Zayn says. “Not just with this but with anything. Everything. Everything there is in the world.”

Harry breathes out and nods because yeah, he gets it. He understands that feeling and he thinks Zayn’s starting to. He rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around Zayn, pulling him and kissing him. Kissing him under the stars, under the worlds that surround them. Zayn melts into it, clutching onto Harry like he needs this, needs him.

Harry holds onto Zayn and realizes that this is it. Their lives are infinite and in every world, in every imaginable scenario out there, it’s them. Forever. Nothing can get in the way of that because no matter what, they’ll always find their way back together again.