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the thing is, zayn never wanted harry. he figures it’s a waste of time pining for unruly hair and two clumsy feet heading only for disaster and crashcrashcrash. 

(he should’ve known that ‘accidents happen for a reason’).

when harry first meets zayn, he is a mess of flailing limbs and worry lines, stumbling face first into a telephone booth. almost.

he expects the worst—eyes closed and tight—but zayn catches him off guard, tanned arms out in a hugging gesture that seem a little too awkward, too confused.

“y’all right there, mate?”

“m’okay.”

zayn is looking at harry in a weird and complex sort of way, like he’s trying to see through him. it makes harry’s heart bang out of his chest and rattle the veins around it. so he laughs it all off awkwardly, distracted by the thumpthumpthump he refuses to hear and apologizes profusely, because it was his fault anyway and m’sorry mate i didn’t mean to— 

zayn takes it all in coolly, waving his hand as if to say calm down it’s really quite all right but he chooses his lines carefully and says,

“watch yourself next time, yeah?”

instead because he’s zayn: the one who walks away with an amused smile that really means don’t fall so easily.

harry blinks.

the things is, zayn never wanted harry. so when he first meets him, he doesn’t think most of it. he vaguely remembers pale skin littered with random bruises, because that’s harry for you, and forgets him altogether.

(he should’ve known that harry was inevitable).

when they meet again, it’s at a coffee shop on 24^th. zayn comes in on a tuesday morning with a cigarette tucked in one ear and dark hair styled in a way that looks like he just woke up. he orders a coffee

“black, naturally.”

to which harry laughs in an odd sort of way, like the wind chimes you leave in the front of your porch but never really hear, and replies with, “you seem like the type.”

zayn looks up to see green eyes turning into little stars, reaching out. he smiles sheepishly, hands up to say ‘guilty’ but

“i guess i am.”

comes out instead. he takes the coffee from harry without another word, leaving a ghost inside that shop.

harry doesn’t miss the way zayn stares at him, fingers curling slowly around the styrofoam cup like he wants to say something. but he’s gone before harry can ponder on that thought any longer. zayn’s smile etched into the synapses of his brain like a tattoo.

-

“you’re insane.”

harry flips louis off because shut up ya wanker i know that already why are we even friends i can’t— 

but the door to the coffee shop opens abruptly, makes a noise that has harry’s heart fluttering like hummingbird wings because he’s eager and waiting and all things that harry’s mind is telling him he’s an idiot for.

“s’not him, is it?” louis asks solemnly. he’s pressing small caresses on harry’s back, informing him that it really is true: once you’ve met someone, you never really forget them.

harry turns, grabs louis in a headlock and blatantly laughs at him because

“since when have you been so bloody philosophical, you fucking twat?”

louis sticks his tongue out like a selfish child. says, “you don’t deserve my amazing intelligence,” and wishes harry the best at stalking a boy he’s never met because there’s a customer over there and he’s giving us weird looks, before going off and taking the order.

harry makes a face behind louis’ back, says arsehole to no one in particular and goes on to staring at the door of the café.

he doesn’t see zayn until a few months after when the flowers start to grow and the leaves start to change.

the things is, zayn never wanted harry. but there was something remotely distracting and dangerous about the lad that zayn found irrevocably addicting. maybe it was a sign.

(he should’ve known to find the nearest exit instead).

“oh harold dearest,” louis whines in a way that makes harry cringe. like he’s been punched too many. and goddammit tomlinson that’s not my name.

“i may have found a solution to your hopeless predicament.”

harry runs a hand through his hair, “oh?”

he wants to look unfazed and tries for that nonchalant act he’s been practicing lately, but he’s hearing too many shots banging out of his chest and fails altogether.

louis is giving him that stupid glare again—the one that clearly sees through harry’s mask, like harry’s full of shit because well, he bloody is—and it’s just making harry quite uneasy, all right.

“tell me you love me a million, you hopeless prat.” louis’ eyes sparkle, hiding secrets that harry can’t quite see. he’s not sure if it’s a good thing, so he tells louis to stop talking rubbish already and waves the idea off completely.

that’s all louis really needs as a signal ringing like alarm bells, before he gives up and feigns a look of utter hurt that he’s sure harry is eating up quite nicely.

“suit yourself then,” he starts, walking away towards messy tables needing to be cleaned and—

“what are you on about?”

curiosity always kills the cat, louis figures. and harry is no exception. he wears a smirk and is satisfied with the red tinge of embarrassment dawning on the younger’s face.

“sorry, mate. think i’ve changed my mind.”

“you fucking sadist.”

so louis laughs on hysterically until harry’s eyes are narrowed in a way that says his fist will be in contact with louis’ face very soon because

“you’re being a fucking twat,” and i swear to god lou, “stop pissing around.”

“okay. okay,” louis says dismissively, mumbles someone needs a good shag before harry really does punch the living daylights out of him.

he continues anyway, rubbing his cheek with a glare that doesn’t seem too forgiving, “so i’ve done some research on that pretty boy of yours. seems niall knows the lad.”

harry barely registers anything louis is saying, rings up niall so quickly with a certain determination that has louis a little scared. he doesn’t even bother with any more explanations because harry’s talking pleasantries and how’ve you been mate? and it’s been months you forgetful clot so pleasepleaseplease come by the flat some time as soon as niall picks up. 

louis begins to question their friendship, briefly wonders if harry’s gone mental and reckons that it wouldn’t be at all a surprise.

(“that hurt, you know.”

“good.”

“fucking wanker.”

“love you too.”)

-

harry knows who zayn is. he knows, but he doesn’t show it. so when niall finally introduces them to each other, he puts on the most indifferent face he can muster up and shakes the latter’s hand as if he’s never met zayn in his life.

“hey,” zayn says in an awed kind of way, like something inside him struck and he’s spitting out random words that don’t make much sense. “it’s you.”

harry inhales. because hi, and yes. sort of.

there’s a pause before niall barks with laughter, delighted and a bit red from the lagers.

“mate, this here is ‘arry. came with the bloke over there ‘side liam,” he rambles on pointing at someone harry can’t quite recognize taking shots with louis.

zayn beams and mumbles something into niall’s ear which causes the irish lad to grin like a madman and run off eagerly towards louis and liam, harry supposes, with an exaggerated wave.

“get acquainted while i get pissed, yeah?”

harry is fucking confused.

“shit friend we got there,” zayn finally says and smiles in a way that has harry’s heart beating in erratic pumps because his smile should be illegal and nonono what the fuck i’m not ready for this shit— 

“complete bastard. that one,” harry breathes. he doesn’t know how but he manages to smile back.

it’s a bit of a surprise, actually, when louis comes out of nowhere and stumbles onto harry with a flushed face and mussed hair. harry’s lips begin to crinkle, just the slightest, as he takes him all in without a word.

within seconds, louis has his arm over harry’s neck, shouting over the blaring stereos and the yells and moans of too many people crowded in a small flat.

“i think i’m in love. honest.”

they see him pointing enthusiastically at an empty space near the counter he was taking shots at with liam and niall earlier, eyebrows raised.

harry has his mouth open, ready to tease because let’s face it: it’s louis and he’s so fucking plastered that he can’t tell what’s what. but zayn interrupts him with clear amusement written all over—like he knows something—small stars forming in his hazel eyes and gleaming.

“mate, i think you’re just wrecked.”

louis gawks. harry guffaws.

“classic!” harry wheezes out, dries off a tear with a finger. “wouldn’t have said it better myself.”

he’s slapping his thigh like it’s the best thing he’s heard all day before louis jabs him in the shoulders, annoyed and a little pink. fuck off, it means.

zayn takes this is as his cue to introduce himself to the blond who’s puffing a little too hard and aiming deadly daggers at him. he really does feel a bit sympathetic. really.

“did you manage a snog at least?” he says to louis with a smirk, leaning against the wall casually.

and it’s like staring into the sun when you used to close your eyes. there’s a shift in the air because louis takes a liking to zayn instantly, really looks. harry begins to think his best friend is a creep.

“the best,” louis replies with a massive grin and a glint in his eye, claws at harry in a way that should not be considered appropriate and gives him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “positively filthy.”

zayn takes a swig from his pint, eyes harry briefly with a nod and says, “well. all right then.”

-

harry decides that zayn is absurdly beautiful or terribly beautiful. he can’t quite choose yet. but someone up there must love him, because he’s staring at a god-like creature and wonders if this is all real. he pinches himself discretely just to make sure. he supposes it’s the alcohol.

“fag?” zayn is quick to pull out a pack once they’re out of the flat and breathing fresh air, gives one to harry who takes a drag appreciatively.

they pass the stick back and forth in comfortable silence. harry thinks this must be some kind of male bonding. in all honesty, he just wants his hands down zayn’s pants and his tongue in zayn’s mouth.

“so, you and louis?” zayn says after a moment, grabbing the cigarette back and inhales, “are you…?”

“god no,” harry chuckles awkwardly, ignoring the funny twists his stomach is making because he’s usually not nervous with this kind of thing. 

zayn gives him a puzzled look and considers that answer for a minute, “you’re not?”

he leans against the building with his arms crossed and stares at harry intently. harry wants to bite his face off.

“we tried. figure it’s best if we stay mates, feelings and all.”

it’s vague and stupid and probably the most grammatically incorrect sentence he’s ever said to anybody, but zayn takes it anyway because he doesn’t have much choice and leaves the subject altogether.

“cool,” zayn says after a moment as he stomps out the stub that’s fallen onto cement floors. he’s looking at harry again, making the latter squirm nervously under the scrutiny.

“so. uhm—” harry laughs, maybe a little too hard. silence irks him in a particular way; this one’s becoming too loud. “art student, huh?”

to be fair, all harry can think of is how insanely attractive zayn looks like this: curious and pensive, under barely lit lamp posts. he silently curses himself for being so shallow and anxious and bloody hell, he just doesn’t know what to think really.

zayn hums approvingly, points to himself and actually grins, “that obvious, eh?”

harry files away the perfection that is zayn and stores the image deep into his memory. he remembers the first time he met zayn: stupid, clumsy, and falling head first towards a telephone booth. tells him, fuck yeah it’s obvious because

“you have a staring problem. you look at people. and it’s like, you want to see through them.”

a pause.

“not at them,” he whispers more so to himself than anything, but zayn hears him anyway and gives harry a weird look.

harry wants to slap himself because the latter’s gone awfully quiet and fuckfuckfuck.

“you give off this brooding vibe,” harry tries to explain, “can almost smell it off ya. like you want the world to see what you see.”

“oh?” zayn brushes his hand through his hair. he’s flattered. “and i s’pose all art students are broody blokes like me then?”

because no one has ever said something like that to zayn and it’s puzzling and enticing and strangely comforting to know that someone’s already slipped through the cracks.

“course not,” harry smirks, courage building as zayn backs him up to the brick walls of the building and inches closer, “just interesting ones.”

it doesn’t make any sense but zayn sort of understands, kind of. harry figures it’s a good sign as any and leans over.

harry’s an amazing kisser. he knows, because people have told him so, but he’s afraid this one will come out short and stocky and stumbled, not quite ringing out with confidence. he hopes zayn doesn’t notice. so he fumbles with the hem of zayn’s shirt and kisses him slow and cautious, cradles the action like children.

zayn tastes like coffee and cigarettes and a bit of alcohol, harry thinks. he probably does too, but harry forgets it just as quickly as he came up with it. he slides his hand up solidly muscular skin underneath a black v-neck, and nips encouragingly at zayn’s mouth, runs his tongue along the bottom of the latter’s lips.

he realizes then that zayn’s lips are soft, stubble rubbing against harry’s face and creating a pleasant sensation. he smiles into zayn’s mouth, all content and reliant on just the feel of having zayn near him.

zayn gets a hold of harry’s waist and keeps his arms wrapped around him. he slides his fingers over the back of harry’s neck and presses harry closer.

they pull back after a moment, panting hard. harry can still feel zayn’s breath on his cheek.

“bloody great way to meet someone, i suppose,” harry says. he tries to sound cool and relaxed but the butterflies in his stomach aren’t going away and it’s distracting.

zayn is looking at him again with a genuine smile and almost-laughs, crashing their foreheads together as he takes another breath. harry decides that someone up there must love him, honest.

“bloody great way,” zayn echoes.

harry feels his heart tighten like coils.

the thing is, zayn never wanted harry. so when they form an unrecognizable friendship, he thinks its cliché that it happened sooner rather than later. but he’ll never really admit that because he doesn’t quite believe in happy endings.

(he should’ve known that people love things that confuse them).

louis is a wretched bastard when he’s hungover. harry is a sadistic friend who purposely takes the day to clean and vacuum the whole house without pity. he makes sure to bang the plates in the morning and turn the radio on a little too loudly.

his best friend comes out later on in the afternoon scowling, head cradled with two hands, and limping. if looks could kill, harry would probably be six feet under.

“well, aren’t you absolutely dashing,” harry laughs as he stealthily dodges the sweets louis is whipping at him.

“i want to die,” louis says plaintively. he draws up his knees on the couch and for a minute, harry thinks he’s going to puke but then he doesn’t. thank god.

“i feel like fucking shit.”

he’s only wearing boxers and his hair is sticking out in every direction. if harry didn’t know any better, he looked like a white version of goku. he contemplates telling louis this but nods instead because well, “you look like fucking shit.”

before louis retaliates, the door opens and in comes a particularly lost boy, eyes wide open and holding two bags of grub like he’s been caught.

“who the hell are you?”

harry is blunt. louis sits up very, very straight. the unnamed boy is flushed and red and sporting what harry deems to be louis tomlinson’s famous love bite.

harry’s eyebrows raise slightly but something clicks from the night before and the way louis was limping just earlier. he figures he should let louis take this one because harry’s an ace friend, it would only make things more awkward if he did.

“thought you’d gone,” calls louis with a kind of tone that says don’t break my fucking heart you bastard and it leaves harry breathless for a second because he can’t quite tell if his best friend is being serious and genuinely interested, or if it’s just one of those things that louis will be distracted by for a moment and then be bored. like shiny things.

“sorry,” the unknown boy says, rubbing the back of his neck and biting his lip. “i was starved and there was nothing in the fridge.”

harry glares at louis because it was your turn to do the groceries this week you twat, but the blond quickly waves him off from the couch and moves over to make room for

(“liam.”

“well, then. glad that’s sorted.”

harry gives predatory looks between the two boys. liam feels like he’s being sexually harassed somehow.

“i hope you don’t mind sharing, tomlinson. clearly you’ve a better taste inebriated than sober.”

“i’m flattered.”

liam almost faints).

before harry could even blink, louis has tangled himself around liam which makes the latter slightly pink and uncomfortable and fidgety. harry could tell, and it amuses him how nervous he’s being.

louis is insistent and loves attention. liam is shy and polite and almost chokes on his food when louis presses kisses against the skin on his neck, then the other side, and slides his mouth down ‘til he’s nipping at the collarbone.

harry pretends not to notice but louis bites hard and liam groans a tad too loudly. and it’s all getting a little too rough and sexual that harry begins to think he’s been forgotten.

“jesus,” he says loudly out of spite more than anything, “get a fucking—”

but there’s a knock at the door and he’s honestly starting to think that fate really hates him or pities him. harry can’t tell. frankly, he just wants to be lazy and smoke weed and just be.

he answers the door anyway, sporting a grumpy expression because now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t toked up in ages.

“the fuck do you—oh.”

“hi?” zayn is standing there rather awkwardly, fist mid-air from the continued knocking that harry so rudely interrupted. he has this silly look on his face and if harry wasn’t in such a shit mood, he’d think it was cute.

okay. maybe a little.

“is this some kind of joke?” harry blurts out.

zayn gives him a puzzled look but quickly understands as soon as he sees louis and liam in a mess of tangled limbs on the far end of the couch.

“so are they a thing, now, then?” zayn asks and nods towards the couple eating each other’s face off.

harry steers them out of the door without a second glance, “suppose they are. best we leave though. there’s some serious snogging going on in there.”

zayn laughs like tinkling silver bells, harry thinks. and it’s really pretty because zayn’s nose crinkles slightly and there’s a dimple on his left cheek and harry is fighting the urge to jump him.

they bolt out of the flat as soon as they hear liam’s mouth produce another moan and naturally cringe.

-

zayn likes to sit out on the veranda and wait for thunder, harry learns. he likes to take long car rides and trains that he doesn’t know, goes to random coffee shops and people watch because people are interesting and they have stories that he paints shortly after.

harry is sure he is going to fall.

it’s sunday and they’re eating fish and chips at half past three. they’re laying down at hyde park and staring at the vast sky littered with white clouds, guessing animals like children, because harry insisted and zayn couldn’t find the heart to argue.

“s’pose i owe niall a tenner now,” zayn complains with one eye shut, “louis must’ve done something right. liam’s usually a long-term type of guy.”

“and what exactly did you bet on?” harry asks, glances to his side and focuses on the way zayn’s mouth wraps around the cigarette he’s blowing smoke out of. they’re still laying on the grass and he’s getting very, very dirty thoughts so he looks up distractingly at the sky instead.

“no more than just a snog out of ‘em, if i’m honest,” zayn admits and smiles gingerly, oblivious to the way it’s making harry’s heart move oceans. “guess nialler won this round.”

harry is unbelievably impressed and rolls on the grass, smacking his belly and laughing because

“there’s no bloody way you fell for that. just. niall’s a bloody genius, then.”

zayn is looking utterly confused which makes harry laugh even harder. and it’s just fucking adorable, harry can’t breathe.

“d’ya suppose louis was there by coincidence, then?” harry explains slowly in short breaths, taking in as much oxygen as he can get. “’m sure the shots niall slipped into his hands weren’t made out of water, mate.”

louis is demanding and feisty and absolutely horny when smashed, it means. doesn’t take no for an answer because, “once he’s taken interest, he becomes worse than a greedy child. loves a good shag, that one.”

harry doesn’t miss the way zayn’s mouth turns angrily into a pout and how he hastily rings niall up just to say, “you cheat. you owe me ten pounds.”

niall argues that it was fair game and to suck it because

“they’ve already shagged, you bastard.”

and to please stop being such a sore loser now since

“i expect that tenner soon as i see your pretty face, malik.”

“you lot are crazy,” harry says after a moment. and if the cigarette wasn’t already distracting, zayn’s fingers are moving and bouncing on harry’s palm like keys on a piano, bunched together and poking holes on pale skin. he wonders if zayn’s doing this on purpose, because it’s a fucking crime all right.

zayn mindlessly hums in agreement.

they stay like that until zayn sticks his tongue out and they spend a minute giggling onto each other’s shoulders like fools, because harry stuck his tongue out too.

“you’re quite interesting,” zayn says out of the blue.

harry wants to tell him he’s absolutely beautiful, but he’s seeing an elephant in the form of clouds and points at that instead.

the thing is, zayn never wanted harry.

(sometimes, his mind forgets to remind him that harry was a bad idea).

harry kisses niall because he’s bored and self-indulgent. it’s all teeth and tongue and niall flailing his arms in surprise because, what the fuck harry.

it wasn’t because zayn was there, conveniently so. honest.

“have you gone mad?” niall says after a moment, pushing him off a little, “you cunt.”

he doesn’t look angry, harry thinks and briefly looks over to zayn who’s tilting his head curiously with dark eyes because, damn. harry takes this as a sign to grin wickedly and plants a quick kiss on niall because he’s harry and

“i’m a little bored, really.”

niall gladly informs harry he’s a weirdo, slinging an arm around harry’s shoulders, all wrinkly-eyed and knowing because

“i forgot how bloody friendly y’er like this.”

harry just smiles lazily.


they’re in liam’s flat, sitting in the lounge and watching nonsense on the telly. harry’s got his pipe and he’s passing it ‘round with red rimmed eyes and scratching his belly like he’s right at home. truthfully, liam didn’t want any part of this but louis is convincing and conniving and holy fuck

“i’m so high,” liam says, eyes wide like he’s learned something important.

zayn laughs enthusiastically, “why liam, i think you’re a genius.”

and it’s getting ridiculous at this point because they’re all snickering religiously onto each other’s shoulders like idiots. niall falls off the couch and stays there, legs spread out on carpet floors. louis is preoccupied on liam’s lap and he’s got liam’s arms tangled around his waist.

harry decides then it’s time to kiss zayn’s neck because, why the fuck not.

“s’pose you do this to everyone,” zayn says in between labored breaths and kisses harry’s jaw.

harry learns that zayn is pliable then, his cock twitching in interest as he bites down zayn’s neck, adding to the constellation of bruises on zayn’s skin.

“suppose i do,” harry manages and he groans wildy as soon as he feels zayn’s hands wrap around his cock. “jesus.”

“is this what we’re doing now?” niall asks, looking up in disgust and kicks harry’s feet as a way of letting them know he’s not impressed. “you crazy bastards.”

he mumbles, ‘i’m a fucking third wheel,’ before grabbing the two boxes of pizza on the table and leaving towards the guest room. zayn laughs, all breathless and airy and pushes away. but harry’s insistent and turned on, straddles him with two arms ‘round zayn’s neck to keep him near because

“louis and liam have gone too. we’re quite alone now, aren’t we?”

zayn smiles mischievously and kisses him as an answer.

-

a week and a half later, harry decides that he needs a clever way to go about zayn. louis volunteers niall for the job.

“i ought to get some proper friends,” niall concludes. “you lot are awful.”

they’re in his flat this time because it’s fifa night and fifa night is always spent at niall’s place.

“suppose i do help you. what then?” niall thinks out loud for a minute and silently curses when louis scores on him. “zayn’s my mate too, you know. and you’re not exactly a… committed type of guy.”

harry glares, “and what exactly do you mean by that?”

“he means you’re an absolute flirt,” louis says flippantly, letting go of the controller for a moment to take a swig of his cider. “can’t blame the lad for worrying.”

“what i mean, you bastard, is zayn doesn’t like to play games,” niall sighs and prods at harry’s ribs because these twats are honestly hopeless, “he’s got too much of a solid grounding to get swept away. the lad rarely does anonymous shags.”

harry understands, because niall is good-natured and tipsy on wine as usual. but still. he kind of desperately wants to fuck zayn. and louis. louis knows him too damned well because correction: he wants to be fucked.

“yeah, well. you’re a bit of a slag for it, aren’t you?”

niall laughs. louis takes this as an opportunity to score. harry buries his face deeper in his hands.

-

harry doesn’t seem surprised when liam comes to the coffee shop the next day to visit louis. what catches his interest though is the bloke next to liam, clad in skinnies and a jean jacket, hair neatly tucked into his favourite beanie.

“feels a little like déjà vu, don’t it?” zayn asks, smiling dopily as he goes to order his coffee. harry’s beginning to think this is fate.

“black, naturally, i suppose?” harry cocks his head to the side, dimples full blown and feels his heart skip a beat when zayn’s eyes widen a little in recognition with a smirk.

“s’pose that’ll do.”

-

when it comes to louis, harry doesn’t like to beat around the bush.

“you’re forever, yeah?” harry asks because he’s harry and he can.

he’s seriously just joking, but louis has this dreamy smile going on and it’s freaking harry out a little ‘cause he’s staring into empty space and probably thinking of strawberry winds and rainbow coloured hearts. and liam. then suddenly everything starts to make much more sense because, damn.

he needs to sit the fuck down.

“you love him,” harry states, swallowing a lump in his throat.

louis is winded and doesn’t reply in a few beats. harry is waving at him like he’s talking to a wall. says hello in an awed kind of way and slaps louis in the face just to make sure he’s alive.

“ouch. fuck,” louis says, rubbing his cheek. he’s looking at his toms and it’s pissing harry the fuck off.

“well?”

“i think so. genuinely this time.”

because louis falls in love with everyone. but harry's starting to think that maybe liam is exactly what louis needs. liam, who’s warm smiles and puppy eyes and too responsible for his own age.

and well, harry believes him.

"i hope so," he says because at the end of the day, louis is still his best mate. and because harry’s really shit at picking up broken pieces.

-

they’re looking at stars this time.

“you’re awfully quiet,” zayn points out. they’re smoking a joint on the rooftop of zayn’s building, laying on make shift beds that really are just two blankets on grey, grey floors. “it’s quite hard to read you when you’re like this.”

harry’s just.

“it’s liam.”

zayn’s focused and staring blatantly at harry who feels like hiding in a corner and just rotting there. but then zayn’s got his arms wrapped around his waist and stroking some skin near his belly button like it’s normal. like it’s what two blokes do on a daily basis. and then. suddenly, they’re snuggling.

harry’s certain his heart’s been thrown out to the sea and lost in the trade winds because, what.

“he’s not going to break louis’ heart, if that’s what you’re asking,” zayn mumbles into harry’s curls, breathing words into the side of his neck. it takes harry nearly every ounce of self-control not to shiver.

“you should share a bit. for liam’s sake.”

and harry knows that he’s been acting like a selfish prat lately, what with grabbing louis away whenever he got the chance and touching him just to spite liam and yeah, he may have kissed louis a couple of times with liam conveniently there but

“louis is always with him. and like, i’m really not jealous. honest. it’s just been rather boring, lately.”

zayn understands because liam’s his best friend too and it’s been ages since the two of them have really hung out. so he pulls harry a little bit closer, and moves his lips to harry’s left ear and breathes warmly.

“best we let it be and make do with what we have here,” he murmurs, barely audible. he drags his lips lower and presses a kiss just beneath harry’s ear. “you don’t mind, yeah?”

harry groans loudly because zayn’s on top of him now and pressing his half-hard cock on harry’s thigh. he curls his hands along the sides of harry’s neck to steady him and licks the roof of his mouth. harry arches more into him, fingers just beneath zayn’s shirt and splayed out against the warmth of his skin as the latter bites at harry’s bottom lip and drags it between his teeth, drawing blood.

it’s hot and demanding and harry’s beginning to think they can do this forever, because the heat in his stomach is boiling and they’re grinding their cocks together in a rhythm they only knew.

“it’s a lot more fun, i think,” zayn breathes.

harry couldn’t agree more.

-

“oh, hello.”

harry wakes to liam smiling from the fridge. again. because liam is almost always over. he’s over right now.

“is this all right?” liam asks loudly when harry doesn’t greet him.

harry looks up quickly from the coffee he’s pouring. he wants to play dumb but decides against it because liam is squirming, harry notices. he’s shifting his weight from one foot to another with his arms crossed. and it’s quite hilarious, really. he would have been pleased for causing such a reaction, but liam looks so damned awkward in his own skin that harry feels sorry for him.

“s’not my business,” harry shrugs, “if louis wants your dick in him, then he can be my guest.”

liam is giving him that look. the one where he doesn’t believe a word harry says, lips tight and eyes narrowed; he’s serious this time. harry had only seen it once before when louis had too much to drink one night and liam took care of him like a saint, ignoring the pleads for more shots and the temptation that is louis tomlinson.

harry sighs, gives in and rubs the back of his neck, “look i’ve been a massive arsehole. and m’sorry. it’s just lou has been in my life for like, ever. and he’s my best mate, y’know?”

it’s the most approval he’s going to give because in all honesty, you’re really quite all right liam and

“sometimes, louis will say things he doesn’t mean, kiss his friends like it’s nothing and gets possessive as fuck. most times, he’s a pain in the fucking arse. but, like, i love him.”

so please just be careful with his heart, yeah?

and liam understands because

“i know. i care for him a lot more than you think, haz.”

harry believes him.

the thing is, zayn never wanted harry. 

(he’s starting to think he’s lying to himself).

it’s become a habit of some sort, of just hanging out, and kissing and getting off with each other. harry supposes they should talk about this, but his throat is caught and constricted by zayn’s mouth and he figures, neither of them can really see a reason to stop.

-

“you’re brooding.”

harry finds zayn in between a mess of crumpled sketches and painted pieces that haven’t been quite finished. he’s in the lounge, wearing only calvin klein boxers, focused on the easel propped up in the middle and staring intensely at a blank canvas with a cigarette in hand.

harry licks his lips unconsciously at the sight.

zayn seems unfazed that harry is in his flat on a thursday afternoon as if it’s the most normal thing. he supposes it is, because harry is unexpected and brash, acts first before he even thinks.

“am not,” zayn replies childishly, turns his back on the empty canvas and puts out his fag in a nearby ash tray so he can face harry properly, “shouldn’t you be at work?”

harry edges closer to zayn, puts his arms around the latter’s neck and rests his body in between zayn’s open thighs and whispers, “shouldn’t you be at school?”

zayn laughs meekly, locks his arms around the sides of harry’s waist naturally and looks up briefly from his stool to kiss the side of harry’s jaw.

“touché.”

“so the brooding, then?” harry asks once again. their faces are so close that harry can feel zayn take a sharp intake of breath.

“complications of a petty art student,” zayn justifies because harry’s been on his mind. and harry is complicated personified who doesn’t seem to know what personal space means. deep down though, zayn can’t pay any heed to mind because he’s staring at harry who’s moving closer and closer and suddenly—

harry is right in zayn’s space, surprisingly so. and they’re kissing with harry moulding his entire body into zayn’s; one hand resting on the back of zayn’s shoulder and the other angling the side of zayn’s jaw upwards for more access, lips pressing harder and deeper against zayn’s.

zayn provides a low sound torn from the back of his throat, fingers digging into harry’s waist until he’s sure it’ll leave bruises after. he immediately swoops his tongue in, stroking the roof of harry’s mouth as soon as the latter lets his mouth fall open.

“and what complications do petty art students run into, d’you think?” harry pulls away temporarily and bites down on zayn’s lips. he moves over to the crook of zayn’s neck and starts pecking there, leaving a spot meshed with teeth marks and glowing shades of reds from sucking.

“must be serious if you’re not talking.”

“mm, you’re just very distracting.”

harry’s got his mouth back on zayn’s lips within seconds. he’s starting to think that kissing zayn has become quite a dangerous addiction.

“fuck, harry. haz—” zayn curses, only managing to push harry away a little and exerts all of his self-control to stop what they’re doing.

he’s finding it quite difficult not to launch himself at harry who’s blinking slowly, wide-eyed and confused and lips swollen looking like a proper wreck.

“fuck,” zayn repeats.

“well, i’d love to. if that’s what you’re asking,” harry says, brimming with confidence. he’s got a smirk on because he knows he’s doing things to zayn’s heart. it makes him feel electric to have some kind of advantage.

zayn sighs, crashes their foreheads together and tries to regain his train of thought. their lips are barely touching and it’s driving zayn insane.

“brooding, again?” harry says when zayn doesn’t reply, eyes glossy all over.

“what are we doing?” zayn counters and looks at harry intensely, ignoring his question. he’s got his fingers under harry’s shirt, stroking the skin there, expectant.

it makes harry quite uncomfortable because zayn has seriously got to stop doing that. he feels his heart beating like a hammer and his chest tightening in a way that’s making it difficult to breathe at the perusal.

“does it matter?” harry argues, doesn’t even let zayn decide because his needs are far greater than what they’re talking about right now.

truthfully, he doesn’t know what they’re doing and it’s scaring him senseless. so he’s pleased when zayn closes his eyes and sinks back into his stool as harry palms his length, fingers rushing to take zayn’s boxers off in short haste.

zayn inhales sharply once he feels harry’s lips teetering over the edge of his cock, moans loudly when the latter swallows him whole.

he’s beginning to see stars.

-

harry doesn’t see zayn for a week after that.

-

“tell me again,” louis says when he comes out of his bedroom with liam one day and sees harry watching the telly forlornly, “why i’ve caught you moping in our couch like a love-struck teenage girl watching the breakfast club.”

harry doesn’t quite understand what louis was suggesting with the breakfast club but he tells him to bugger off anyway because, “i’m not moping.”

louis rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, seats himself beside harry with his arms stretched. “right. and liam’s not my boyfriend.”

liam hears this and laughs in the kitchen, sort of yells, “i never agreed to that, you know!” before going about his business and making the three of them brunch.

it has louis smiling in that way of his, all content and in love. harry sighs.

louis grabs harry’s hand, strokes his wrist in a way of comfort. it helps a little, harry thinks. and he realizes he misses this. he misses louis.

“you fancy him, yeah?” louis asks with a tilt of his head. and harry doesn’t have to ask who louis is referring to, because harry doesn’t have to be a bloody genius to figure out it was zayn.

it’s been zayn all along. 

“yeah,” he murmurs in a hushed tone and it’s like he’s speaking in a foreign tongue, because he’s realized something that makes him feel awkward, chest exploding like shots banging out from it.

louis understands, sympathetic.

“then tell him, you idiot.”

liam finds them snuggling and joins right after.

the thing is, zayn never wanted harry. 

(he reckoned that maybe he should have left a little note beside his heart saying, handle with care).

the first time zayn fucks him, harry’s plastered and high off his fucking mind. it’s anger and confusion and what the fuck are we doing all over again.

harry blames niall for all this because

"seriously, who goes out on a tuesday night?"

niall is elated and already smashed, skipping randomly on the sidewalk and wishing everyone a merry christmas.

"you do know it's april right?" louis asks.

liam smacks louis in the head. chimes in, “this is ridiculous. we should be studying for finals,” before grabbing niall by the arm and pulling him back sharply from the busy road, “careful you twat, we don’t wanna lose your body to god just yet.”

niall sticks his tongue out in response, cars whizzing by in blurred colours as they wait to cross the street.

once they get into their local, louis practically jumps to the bar and orders fifteen shots of tequila and vodka and shooters that harry has never heard of. he sees zayn take them with ease and wonders how this perfect being can handle his alcohol so well. in all honesty, harry just wants to kiss zayn’s mouth again and tell zayn how much he’s missed him.

but he won’t, of course. he’s in too deep to give in.

“suppose this is tradition now,” zayn laughs, a little red. he claps liam on the back. “going out with you lot has become a habit of some sort.”

niall downs a round and slings an arm around zayn, kissing his cheek wetly. harry directs his attention to the dance floor then, takes his shots and pulls louis in to grind.

“better be a damn good one!” niall shouts, oblivious.

-

harry’s starting to think that he’s become worse than a petulant child. and maybe it’s the narcissist in him talking, but he hasn’t seen or spoken to zayn in almost a month and the sad bastard is blatantly ignoring him, harry knows. and it irks him to no end.

so when zayn sticks to niall and liam the whole night, he decides it’s best to grab all the attention he can get. zayn or otherwise.

he doesn’t know how it happened exactly but one minute he’s grinding on louis and laughing like a crazed maniac and the next, he’s up on a wall snogging a random stranger.

there should have been alarms blaring off inside his head, voices shouting and yelling at harry for being a complete idiot who’s taken some mdma from grimmy because that definitely wasn’t the proper thing to do.

(“been awhile. where’ve you been styles?”

“here and there.”

but this is nick grimshaw he’s talking to. harry doesn’t seem at all surprised when grimmy kisses him softly, connecting their hands and slipping a couple of pills in harry’s palms before leaving.

“for whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into, mate.”

harry smiles, thankful and a little drunk.)

and well, he feels so fucking good right now that everything seems to slip out of his mind.

the stranger’s hands are doing things to his body, harry’s cock already half-hard when fingers play along harry’s side, moving downwards slowly and resting at harry’s back pants pockets.

he moans loudly once he feels lips nipping eagerly at his collarbone, kissing and leaving marks there.

“back to mine?” the stranger asks, raw and turned on.

before harry could even agree, soft hands tighten around his wrist, the skin burning as if it’s been pulled off by a wrench. everything is all blurs and fuzzy colours meshed in a weird abstract painting before harry gets slammed into another wall nearest to the club’s back doors.

he’s beginning to see two zayns staring back at him with a murderous glare and christ, harry’s never felt so dizzy.

“the fuck are you thinking?” zayn spits out, nostrils flaring in anger because harry’s quite drunk and letting his emotions take control. “are you fucking stupid, you bloody twat?”

but harry’s already having a hard time focusing as it is, laughs in a mocking kind of way because he honestly can’t fathom the thought of zayn being resentful over something so trivial. zayn has no right to because they were a thing—now—then and it pisses harry the fuck off thinking about it.

“and what do you care?” harry asks indignantly, back on the wall and fingers gripping whatever he can tightly. “you’re takin’ the piss, yeah?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“m’just on m, mate. havin’ a little fun.”

“so is that what that bloke gave you, then? some mdma, really, harry?”

zayn doesn’t waste time to pull out a fag, takes a long drag and flicks the lighter with his hand. harry catches the smoke zayn blew out of his lips slowly, surprised at the prospect that zayn even paid attention to him at all.

“you’ve got a knack for stupidity, haz,” zayn sighs like he’s read harry’s mind, running a hand through his quiff and brushing his hair to the left. “what’s gotten you so wound up lately?”

harry supposes zayn’s sobered up by now and it leaves him angry because it’s just not fair, all right. he shouldn’t be the only one making reckless decisions and it’s childish, he knows, but for once he wishes zayn would just let go of being rational and responsible and all things rightly zayn.

“lately? in case, you haven’t noticed i haven’t seen you in ages,” harry grumbles out sluggishly, looking zayn straight in the eye with a kind of fear and vulnerability that he doesn’t want the latter to know but does anyway because zayn always knows.

“don’t think you’ve a right to ask me if m’okay,” he adds out of pure frustration because zayn is a bloody wanker who’s been mucking him about and it’s doing things. harry doesn’t know how much more he can handle.

it’s a little cliché, really, when zayn punches the wall nearest to harry’s head with a sort of contempt like he wants to say something he’ll regret only to close his eyes tightly, feeling incredibly pathetic and unable to stop stumbling towards destruction. because that’s what this was—destructive.

“you’ve got a way with words,” zayn says as he smiles wryly, tight-lipped and strained.

they’re so close that he can see harry’s blemishes, the small frown of his lips and the dark circles under his eyes from not enough sleep because harry never did care for his health after all. but to zayn, well, even then harry was still so beautiful.

“you’re being insufferable, haz. just. don’t, yeah?“

and it’s like paint rusted sailboats, black and white photographs, and fluorescent coloured balloons—obvious—when zayn’s eyes fall prey to harry’s lips like clockwork, knuckles becoming unbelievably white from clenching too hard.

harry sucks in a breath, the steady tattoo of his heart beating against his ribcage. he supposes this type of thing was bound to happen between them, reckons he’s got nothing to lose and pulls zayn closer by the neck, inhaling the cologne and musky scent of cigarettes he’s almost forgotten he was so fond of.

“i’ve missed you, you know,” harry says definitively. like an afterthought. “sometimes, i wish you didn’t make me feel like an idiot.”

“harry, i—” zayn starts.

harry interrupts.

“it’s not as if i’m really needed, anyway.”

he hears zayn curse under his breath so lowly that harry almost doesn’t hear it, feels zayn’s lips lock on his mouth in desperation to feel something—anything. and it’s no surprise when they’re back at it again, snogging carelessly in the middle of the night at an alleyway near their local. like the past few weeks haven’t happened at all.

zayn’s outlining the contours of harry’s lips with his tongue, grabbing harry’s waist with one hand and cupping harry’s jaw so carefully with the other like he’s afraid to touch him. it makes harry breathless and eager, his heart pounding so loud he’s frightened zayn would hear it.

and well, it takes only one soft moan and a thrust of the hips from harry before zayn crumbles and knows he’s absolutely fucked.

-

it’s a bit of a surprise, really, when zayn pulls him into a cab harshly and mumbles his address to the cabbie in a heated rush. harry doesn’t complain because he’s high and horny and every little touch from zayn is sending shivers to his body that keep saying moremore.

harry knows it’s the drugs and maybe the alcohol he’s taken in excessive amounts because they really shouldn’t be doing this—he really shouldn’t be doing this—but his mind is too preoccupied at the moment with zaynzaynzayn. so harry latches his lips onto zayn’s neck like he’s always done just to prove a point (whatever that is) and forgets all the same.

“jesus, harry. can you just—”

zayn bites the inside of his cheek hard, stifling a moan and lightly shoving harry’s lips and roaming hands away from him, even for a moment.

“christ. fucking stop,” zayn says, voice ragged from taking too many deep breaths as if it would make his raging hormones go away because, well—

“you’re not helping.”

and zayn really does try to push him away this time. but harry’s insistent and doesn’t take no for an answer, his lips back on zayn’s neck like he’s addicted. he nips at zayn’s jaw and slowly makes his way down to zayn’s collarbone and rests there and—fuck. it’s getting really, really hard for zayn to focus or form any coherent sentences, so he opts for guttural moans and low curses that he’s sure the cabbie is smirking knowingly at them for instead.

“missed you,” harry says again in shallow breaths near his ear, warm and electrifying to zayn’s skin, “need you.”

harry doesn’t even think twice, pulls at zayn’s red plaid shirt eagerly and opens the first few buttons in a stumbled haste to reveal tanned skin and hard muscles. and god fucking damn, harry’s really missed zayn, like a lot, because he’s already hard from just the mere thought of zayn being naked and fucking him at the backseat of a random cab.

“oh god,” zayn drawls out, struggling to breathe once harry’s taken a keen interest to the ink splayed out on his chest. harry’s fingers are grazing every open area like he’s painting on a canvas, his left hand ghosting zayn’s length teasingly. it’s doing things to zayn’s heart, spurting in irregular bangs, cock twitching just a little bit.

“we’re out of our fucking minds,” zayn concludes, choking over the words.

harry ignores him adamantly and bites his face off.

-

they barely make it to the door.

zayn has to lock harry’s hands fumbling for zayn’s zipper between his own like a set of handcuffs, spinning him ‘round once they’ve gotten inside the building and shoving harry against the nearest wall. zayn growls in frustration because harry manages to hike his hips up against zayn and suck the skin right above his shoulder blades. he’s beginning to think harry’s become quite fond of his neck area.

it’s stupid and reckless and goddamn it feels so fucking good, but zayn can’t have this right now when anyone in his building could walk right in. he struggles to keep harry in place.

but harry knows what zayn is thinking, wiggles his hands away from zayn’s attempt to control him and hooks them around the latter’s waist instead. he cops a feel of zayn’s ass and squeezes nicely, smirks when zayn gives him a look of desperation.

“for god’s sake, haz,” zayn tries again, shoves him hard and backs away—even if it was just a few inches. he pushes the protesting boy into the lift once the doors open with a violent ring and hisses, “not here, fuck.”

and well, unfortunately for zayn’s self-control, it all goes downhill from there.

“i want to tear your clothes off,” harry says once they’re in the lift. he says it with a kind of finality that surprises even himself, because zayn’s staring at him wide-eyed, like harry’s killed all the resolve zayn’s carefully put together. so he rolls his head sideways, smirks in that kind of way he does when he wants to pull, and meets zayn’s gaze whose pupils have blown incredibly with lust ‘cause fuck yes, i’ve got you now malik.

“harry—” zayn starts but harry cuts him off, tells zayn not to worry because he’ll play fair for now.

“but,” harry leers which makes zayn teeter on edge, “you’re mine once we’re in your flat, love.”

as disheveled as harry is, he’s surprised he’s gotten this far in containing himself because for all he cared, zayn could fuck him right there, right up against the wall of this lift and—

“stop it,” zayn answers simply, “m’not fucking you in here.”

and oh, harry didn’t even notice he said it out loud.

-

they’re in front of zayn’s flat.

zayn fumbles with shaking hands that can’t seem to cooperate with his brain to open the door. it makes harry laugh a little, because zayn: all calm and cool and collected, is losing his composure and it blows harry’s mind that he’s the reason for all this.

(“very suave, malik.”

a grumble.

“and yes,” harry says in that mocking way of his just to tease zayn (who’s glaring daggers at him because harry’s not helping at all) even more, “that was sarcasm.”

“shut up.”

harry is reveling this moment.)

zayn closes his hand around harry’s wrist once they’re through the door and pulls him demandingly towards the bedroom with a feral growl. he’s got harry’s shirt up and off him, throwing it carelessly to the ground with the rest of the random clothes he’s strewn on the floor this week, and kisses the expanse of harry’s exposed skin like it’s something he can’t get tired of.

and harry loves this, relishes at the feel of zayn’s lips creating bruising art everywhere on his body. he moans reassuringly once zayn lifts him up against the wall, grabbing harry’s legs and tangling them around him, sucking and biting and licking the skin of harry’s navel downwards.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” zayn points out matter-of-factly, like it’s something harry should know and hear everyday. it makes harry’s heart beat a little faster and if he wasn’t so far gone right now, he would have been blushing like a madman. he’s flattered, really.

zayn gently lays harry down the bed, their bodies flush against each other, moulding perfectly.

“off,” harry orders using that tone of his when he’s determined, pulls at the remaining closed buttons of zayn’s shirt impatiently. harry sees some of them fly off from tearing the shirt too fast, gives zayn a rueful smile and kisses the outlines of the latter’s heart-shaped tattoo near his hip.

and he really loves this part—the getting naked part—because he hasn’t quite seen zayn entirely naked yet with deeper intentions than blow jobs and wanking each other off, if that makes sense at all. he undoes the buttons of zayn’s jeans, kisses him all the while unzipping and pulling down at the material.

it’s fast and heated and soon they’re both very, very naked and harry can’t remember a time when he’s wanted to fuck someone so much—or be fucked for that matter. he flips zayn over who yelps in a satisfied oomph underneath him, runs down his fingers over zayn’s chest and stomach and suddenly he’s stroking zayn’s cock and kissing his lips and neck and—

“fuck,” zayn manages in between laboured breaths, hips moving forward in response to harry’s hand. his cock already swelling from the treacherous heat building in his stomach.

harry only smiles provocatively, moves his body downdowndown, kissing the muscles of zayn’s stomach as he works his way to the crease of zayn’s thigh. he bites and licks keenly at the area until he’s breathing warm air just above zayn’s length. he takes zayn in his mouth then, tongue tracing the large vein on the underside of zayn’s cock before sliding over his slit, gathering the precome there with an obscene moan.

“fuckfuckfuck,” zayn repeats in succession, digging his fingers into harry’s curls after a moment of harry sucking and licking his cock expertly.

and it’s honestly getting so fucking hard for zayn to breathe right now as he twists and pulls at harry’s hair like he’s going to die.

“m’gonna come if you keep doing that, babe.”

but harry’s not listening, keeps going with his hand wrapped around his own length until zayn has to use every last bit of his self-control to grab harry by the arms and steady him.

“we’ve got all night,” he says, kissing harry as a small apology, “no rush, yeah?”

harry laughs, all deep and throaty, pecking zayn on the lips after awhile. says, “mm, want my half now, i think.”

that’s all it takes really for zayn to grab a condom and some lube from his bedside drawers. he’s coating his fingers with some k-y all the while harry takes care of his own needs, lazily stroking himself again as he blatantly checks zayn out.

“reckon i’ll regret this in the morning,” zayn muses as he straddles harry, their dicks sliding together and creating incredible friction that has them both moaning a little too loudly. harry arching up for some more contact.

harry cranes his neck to mouth at zayn’s shoulder. mumbles, “let’s take that risk then, yeah?”

he can’t stop his voice from sounding hoarse but from the way zayn irrepressibly moans, he thinks zayn rather likes it.

“now, can you please fuck me?” harry says after a moment of snogging, meaning to sound innocent. “this foreplay is getting too long.”

zayn laughs at that, a little unsure of himself. he considers the situation for a second because this is sex they’re talking about and it’s serious this time, or at least that’s what zayn reasons. he doesn’t know how else he can handle this without rationalizing and overthinking the pros and cons, so he gives in like he usually does, reckons they’ve gone this far already.

“well, aren’t you polite?” zayn asks sarcastically, rolls his eyes a bit. “your declaration to shag is very encouraging.”

harry is impatient and turned on at a ridiculous level, arcs his hips once more to get this going. he’s so close to beating the shit out of zayn ‘cause goddamn, it’s been well over a minute; he’s sure he’ll go insane.

“absolutely. now get to it and fucking do someth—”

oh, harry feels two slick fingers slide into him unexpectedly and all he could think of is

“holy hell.”

“relax, babe.”

harry really tries, gives himself a few moments before he’s pushing back against zayn’s fingers, meeting zayn’s eyes whose pupils have blown wide from watching harry adjust.

“you’re addictive, y’know that?” zayn says as he sucks on harry’s nipple. he’s not really asking because they both well know the answer.

zayn slides down harry’s body, leaving a trail of kisses right to where harry’s thigh meets his pelvis, tongue sticking out and adorning the area.

“heard it once or twice,” harry gasps out in uneven breaths as he raises his knees and feels zayn’s mouth press a kiss to the tip of his cock.

when zayn adds another digit, harry hisses at the way all three fingers are burrowing in him, muscles clenching tightly from being stretched out. it takes him a little while until the heat in his stomach deepens incredibly, zayn’s fingers curling inside him and thrusting themselves in and out in a steady rhythm.

zayn moves lower, slipping his tongue out to the slit of harry’s cock, which does wonders to harry apparently because he’s moaning and pleading for more.

“gonna come,” harry says after a moment of zayn sucking on his cock, fingers knuckle-deep in harry’s hole. “zayn, fuck. m’gonna if you don’t stop.”

zayn pulls away then, running his tongue up the base of harry’s cock. harry seriously thinks he’s going to explode, doesn’t know how long he can hold on because his body is screaming fuck me and—

“jesus,” harry gasps out once zayn puts on a condom and slicks his cock with lube, positioning himself between harry’s legs and thrusts in deeply.

zayn has to take a second because harry is so fucking tight right now and it’s getting so unbelievably hard for zayn not to ram right in again that his fingers are leaving yellow bruises on harry’s hips from waiting. he can already feel strained veins growing on his neck as he refrains himself from pounding into harry like an animal, waiting for the latter to adjust.

“y-yeah,” harry moans shortly after. he reaches for zayn’s arm, nails digging into the tanned skin and creating crescent moons. “more.”

it only takes a few more moments for harry to get used to him, zayn balls deep and resting against harry’s flesh. zayn gradually slides out, the head of his cock the only part of him that’s in harry before the latter finally writhes and whimpers against zayn, chasing pleasure.

and that’s all the signs zayn needs—ringing deafeningly like a bell hammer—before he drives back in, not holding back.

harry’s a string of curses, of fucks and shits all around, raising his hips in time to meet with zayn’s thrusts because, bloody fucking hell.

“right—f-fuck, zayn. right there,” harry groans. and it’s pleading and crazed and delightful to zayn’s ears because harry is practically begging for it.

the bed creaks and harry is absolutely sure he’s seeing stars, mouthing incessant obscenities that has zayn pounding into harry’s prostate again and again as they both moan in pleasure.

harry doesn’t even have to tell zayn he has to come, the latter wrapping a hand around harry’s neglected cock instinctively. zayn pulls harry closer to his chest, digging his fingers in brown curls as he continues to dive into harry wildly.

and well, harry thinks this is the best sex he’s ever had, head thrown back in pure ecstasy.

“ugh, fuck. zayn—”

he barely catches his breath, hands balled into fists and toes curling enough to make his eyes water.

“more.”

there’s something uninhibited and feral about the way zayn strokes harry’s cock in time to how he’s sliding in and out of harry, orgasm nearing for both.

it’s harry who comes first though. zayn’s thumb swiping over the head of harry’s cock one last time before harry spills his load over zayn’s fist and his own stomach with a cry.

zayn fucks him faster then—any form of constraint completely wiped off—consumed with just the feeling of harry as he holds harry’s thighs apart and feels the latter clench around him firmly.

harry’s sure that zayn’s back is littered with red marks by now from the pressure of his nails digging into the latter’s skin, scratching and grabbing blindly as zayn thrusts into him a couple more times, burying deep.

zayn comes with harry’s name on his lips, biting at harry’s shoulder because he’s so far gone—fuck—and spills his own load into the condom. he pulls out of him slowly, all spent and winded and collapsing next to harry with their chests rising and falling unevenly.

and damn, if harry didn’t think zayn was beautiful before he was immensely gorgeous right now, with his eyes half-closed in a blissful haze and looking fixatedly at harry like he’s always done.

“you’re really quite something, haz.”

harry thinks he’s lost his breath for sure this time.

-

harry wakes up in the middle of the night with aching bones and tired eyes to the blurred lights of the city and the smell of cigarette smoke. he finds zayn in deep thought, sitting on his balcony and watching harry with a look that doesn’t seem quite at all there. it shakes harry a little.

he’s got his sketchbook in hand, drawing absentmindedly with a few strokes of his pencil, shading and erasing various corners of the paper. it takes a moment for zayn to realize that harry’s awake, staring back at him with a small smile.

“you’re up quite early,” zayn says simply as a way of greeting. he really didn’t know what else to say.

harry sits up, half of his body exposed for zayn’s prying eyes to latch on, which to harry’s dismay doesn’t happen. zayn is scribbling, focused on his sketchbook once again and it pains harry to know that even after sex, zayn’s still ignoring him.

“could say the same for yourself,” harry says, staring at his hands rather dumbly, “were you not able to sleep?”

zayn sighs and looks at harry for real this time, “got a lot on my mind.”

and harry knows this was possibly a mistake, zayn probably thinks so too but it was good—more than good—it felt right and everything’s just so bloody confusing right now that harry’s at a loss in what to do.

so he brushes a hand through his hair and says, “brooding, again?” just for the hell of it.

because this is how zayn and harry are. they fight head on and run in circles at the same time, a perplexing mess that’s gotten them into an emotional chaos. harry wonders if relationships were always this complicated. then again, he hasn’t figured out what they were quite yet.

“more or less,” zayn answers, going back to his drawing.

he’s not exactly certain why he’s being such a twat, especially since he’s been the one losing control all night. but he thinks this situation is rather difficult already and it’s maddening because it’s not necessarily harry’s fault but it kind of is and fuck—

“this is pretty messed, innit?” harry says, answering zayn’s thought process.

it’s quiet after that, the only sounds coming from zayn’s pencil scribbling charcoal onto paper and the three am winds of london’s barely lit streets.

harry never thought silence could be so deafening.

“um,” harry adds, looking like a deer caught in the headlights because this is becoming fairly awkward, “so that’s never happened before.”

it really is nice to see harry flustered like this, zayn thinks. almost stupidly in a way that zayn has been these past few weeks, like he can’t make sense of anything at all anymore.

“you’re an idiot, you know?” zayn says, looking up once more with jaded eyes. “you’ve got this thing ‘bout you i can’t grasp. it’s pretty shit, if you ask me. like. i can’t help but just do whatever you say. it’s rattling.”

harry’s caught off guard, used to the quiet, and grabs a fistful of white sheets. he kind of gets it though because zayn’s like that for him too; an enigma he’s been trying to understand for the past year and a half he’s known the bradford boy.

“me too,” harry murmurs quietly, “you’re like that for me too.”

zayn informs him that maybe this was a bad idea. harry feels his heart explode into tiny pieces that he can’t pick up.

-

it’s liam, surprisingly, that yells at harry to get his shit together. he’s been moping for a whole week after the incident with zayn, and he’s fairly certain that latching onto louis like a leech (whining and pining over something he can’t have) is doing things to liam’s self-control. now that harry thinks about it, it shouldn’t come as a shock to him that liam would be the one who’s annoyed.

“you’ve got a knack for stupidity,” liam declares, echoing zayn’s words that harry can’t seem to get out of his head. he’s starting to think liam and zayn have this telepathic best friend thing going on and it’s making him jealous.

“so i’ve heard,” harry drawls out slowly. he’s laying on the couch like a starfish because, why the fuck not. “what’s it to ya?”

liam sighs, sits on the loveseat opposite to the couch and faces harry with one hand resting on his cheek.

“don’t be ridiculous, haz. i should be cross with you, really. so spit it out already before i lose my mind and some more sleep, yeah?”

and harry feels kind of bad for liam. really looks at him with a sympathetic smile because if the circles darkening around his eyes are anything to go by, louis has definitely been bugging liam to no end. and zayn. well, zayn’s probably throwing up a storm, complaining about how ridiculous harry is and how much zayn doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“just. everything’s so complicated,” harry explains, staring into the ceiling like he’s talking to a therapist which for liam’s sake, harry guesses he is.

“i think about kissing him all the time. and i figure, that’s worth something, y’know? but he’s always so very zayn about everything and i just. i don’t know what to do anymore.”

harry truly does think about kissing zayn all the time, he quite likes zayn enough to think about doing things beyond just kissing him almost constantly. he realizes then that he fancies zayn more than he thought and with the way liam is looking at him right now, harry thinks he’s massively screwed up somehow.

“what?” harry asks, frustrated after a few moments of silence.

“you really like him, huh?”

“more than you can imagine.”

and liam is honestly surprised at how dense harry and zayn have been acting because this is all so simple really, it shouldn’t even be so hard. so he tells harry exactly that, laughs at the way harry makes a disgruntled noise like he’s going to die in a minute because liam isn’t making sense at all.

“i just think,” liam tells harry with a tone that says please listen to every word i say carefully because i’m so very tired of your shit, “that you guys have been circling around this for more than a year now. i mean we all saw it coming, but you’ve jumped from a to z in an instant. and well, obviously that sort of thing won’t end well."

harry sighs dramatically, because he’s right. liam’s always right. but—

“what am i supposed to do? i’m usually so good at these kinds of things.”

“have you ever thought that maybe telling him how you feel might actually work?” liam suggests, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “honesty is the best policy or summat.”

harry sniffles and doesn’t answer.

“look, it’ll be all right. really,” liam says reassuringly, “zayn fancies you just as much.”

“sure as hell doesn’t show it,” harry grumbles angrily.

liam shakes his head and crosses his arms. “harry, you have a strange way in going about your affection. especially towards your mates. i can’t blame him for being confused; he doesn’t want to be just anybody else.”

“i’m kind of an idiot, aren’t i?” harry asks, all doe-eyed and a little wrecked from realizing how much of twat he’s been.

liam stands up from his seat and cuddles next to harry, comforting the latter with soothing strokes on his back so that harry doesn’t cry the nile river.

“it’s a bit scary when you like someone,” liam starts with something akin to adoration, “you do crazy things without really thinking about it.”

(“like bringing tarts to lou this morning ‘cause he mentioned wanting some offhandedly yesterday?”

“shut up.”

“m’just saying. you’re pretty gone too, mate.”

“focus, harry. focus.”

“right, right. sorry. we were talking about feelings or summat.”)

liam exhales loudly because it’s kind of getting really hard to keep this conversation going with the way harry’s mind works. but he continues for him anyway and says, “so what i’m saying, mate, is to just be honest with yourself and tell zayn exactly that.”

harry thinks liam is the best thing that ever happened to this world at the moment, tarts and all.

-

harry blames finals for the reason he’s been so busy lately. he knows he’s a pansy but he doesn’t bother contacting zayn for a few more days and it’s eating his entire being.

“you look like death, mate.”

harry sinks his head, burying himself in his arms with his shoulders jutting out awkwardly. he doesn’t even bother looking.

“bugger off,” harry mumbles, almost inaudible. “finals are a bit of a pain, if you can’t tell already.”

he points to his eye bags briefly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

niall laughs like he doesn’t quite believe him and says, “m’sure that’s the case since you’re so enveloped in your studies.”

harry looks up at niall, obviously annoyed and cranky and fuck it all to hell, really.

“are you takin’ the piss?”

niall shakes his head no and orders a latte instead.

“he hasn’t shown up to his classes, ya know. hasn’t been home either. liam reckons he’s in one of those moods again. s’pose it’s an artist thing, always so bloody broody and whatnot.”

harry scrunches his nose at the way niall slurps his coffee, tells him it’s seriously disgusting and to avoid ever doing that to any fit girls around

(“it’s not very attractive you twat.”

“oh belt up, will you.”

“you’re crushing feeble hearts, you animal!”

“such a gem, you are.”)

and to please explain everything more simply because honestly

“what are you on about?”

niall sighs loudly, a little frustrated. “i’m telling you zayn’s disappeared, ya wanker. haven’t heard a word from ‘im since the last time we were plastered. not even liam.”

harry is quiet.

niall takes this as his cue to blabber on without thinking, “figure i should tell ya, since it’s clearly ‘bout you and your unresolved feelings for each other. bloody annoying, if you ask me.”

harry finds his voice then, tone a little cross and accusing, “and how exactly is that my fault?”

niall rolls his eyes and leans over the counter to whack harry in the head because

“you never listen, d’ya? m’not blaming anyone. what i’m saying is to get on with it already and fix this little love quarrel. y’er worrying everyone to death.”

“s’not a love quarrel,” harry whispers, trying to sound like he believes it himself. really, he does.

“yes, and i’m convinced you two aren't meant for each other,” niall admits sarcastically.

it makes harry a beet red at the remark, niall barking on with laughter at the small endearment. he goes towards the exit of the cafe and half-waves with his back facing harry, a huge grin on his face as he rushes out the door.

“m’off before ya throw those coffee beans my way. g’luck, mate!”

"oi! you haven't even paid!"

niall is cheeky anyways and gives him a thumbs up. harry almost throws a bag at him.

-

harry finds zayn sulking at their university’s art studio on a friday afternoon.

“you’re a shit friend, zayn malik.”

zayn looks up from his canvas to find harry leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed and looking mighty angry. he doesn’t find the heart to answer.

harry is determined and punches zayn square in the face.

“what the fuck was that for?!” zayn yells angrily, rubbing his reddening cheeks.

“for being a bloody wanker. and for avoiding me,” harry finishes, confidence dwindling because he hasn’t really thought this through okay.

it’s not his fault that things have gotten so messed up—all right, admittedly it kind of is. but it’s not entirely his doing. zayn’s pretty shit too, for ignoring him and letting harry feel like he hasn’t slept for days, which all right he hasn’t but he’s not about to let zayn take the piss because honestly—

he notices the canvas zayn was working on then, all browns and yellows and mixed hues.

harry feels his heart beat a mile a minute because zayn’s staring at him with a slight blush on his cheeks that harry is absolutely sure isn’t just from the punch he’s pulled.

“is that—are you—are you painting me?” harry asks, taken aback and struggling with his words. sure zayn draws him from time to time, harry has seen loads of sketches, but he’s never put harry on a canvas. ever. because canvases are a big deal apparently.

(“s’probably some fucked up artist logic or summat,” zayn says absentmindedly.

“oh?”

“like photographs, i guess.”

“i’m not sure i quite get it.”

“like knowing when to take pictures of what you care ‘bout the most.”

“i never pegged you, of all people, to be such a bloody sap.”

“can it, styles.”)

zayn refuses to meet harry’s eyes, stops painting altogether and focuses on grabbing his set of paintbrushes and colour palette instead. he heads over to the sink to wash them and blatantly ignores the way his cheeks are warming at an incredible rate. no, he’s definitely not blushing.

“s’nothing really. just part of my final project is all,” zayn says indifferently, shrugging a little, “what are you even doing here?”

zayn wonders why he keeps lying to him because zayn loves harry. it’s stupid and ridiculous and it’s excruciatingly frustrating, is the thing.

harry feels like digging himself a hole in a very far place and living there for all eternity.

“undoubtedly to come see you, ‘course,” harry says earnestly and sits in one of the stools propped up beside the canvas zayn’s painted him on. zayn looks at harry like he’s a shit liar—which all right he is—and it makes harry want to run away even more. “i’ve come to apologize. like, massively apologize because i’m an idiot apparently.”

“is that so?” zayn teases and gives him a huge smirk. it has harry kind of furious, because it’s just not fair right now for zayn to look like he’s some sort of adonis or summat.

“i’ve hurt your feelings,” harry says dejectedly and frowns at the floor, “and m’sorry for that. for mucking you about. it’s just—you’re just so infuriating.”

zayn catches harry raise both his hands in a frantic manner, frustrated in a way that has him sinking one hand inside his curls and brushing some of it back.

“m’glad my presence is well-loved. really, harry, i am.”

surprisingly, zayn doesn’t steer away from him. harry figures that’s worth something, because zayn’s coming closer to the stool he’s currently squirming at, only stopping until harry’s head is curving up a bit to get a better look.

“i don’t know—just. one minute, i’m so cross with you i can’t even stand you,” harry explains. his hands are shaking uncontrollably so he’s got them balled into fists, nails digging into the insides of his palms as he speaks.

zayn’s looking at harry attentively, arms crossed and waiting for the latter to finish.

harry continues.

“and the next, i miss you. like a lot. maybe a little more even. ‘specially when i’m alone. and it’s infuriating, because people shouldn’t feel this way about their mates, y’know? then halfway through i’ve come to realize i love you. and well, i don’t know.”

zayn’s jaw becomes slack, eyes blinking rapidly. “i’m sorry, what?”

“forget it,” harry mumbles and looks away, glowing a crimson red. “it’s stupid. probably for the best you didn’t hear.”

it makes zayn’s heart do some weird fucking flips that he can’t help but think he’s shitting rainbows and puking happiness right now. so he grabs a hold of harry’s chin with one finger, forces harry to really look at him and asks, “you love me?”

“yeah, well. don’t be a fucking knob about it, all right?” harry says, trying hard to move his head but zayn’s got a pretty good hold on him dammit. he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life.

“hey,” zayn relents, fondly in a way that he’s cupping harry’s jaw with his hand and rubbing harry’s cheek with his thumb.

harry takes a deep breath and reckons there’s no better time to explain his declaration of love than today. he’s afraid that if he doesn’t tell zayn how he feels now that he’ll be a pansy forever. besides, harry’s already stained red from humiliation and biting his lip so hard he’s sure it’ll bleed, because you only live once, right? fucking drake.

“m’sorry for being such a flirt. it’s just. i fancy you, yeah? s’pose it’s a bit more than that,” harry rambles, “i literally crashed into your life and i reckon that’s somewhat fate, y’know? you’ve got this stupid look on your face whenever you spared me a glance, and fuck. what was i supposed to do? i was wrecked the minute you smiled at me.”

“harry, shut up.”

he doesn’t.

“look. let me talk a bit first, yeah? er, i’ve been. i mean, i’ve wanted you for so long. even stalked you a bit just to know who you are. and i know, that’s bloody creepy and it’s a bit much but these feelings are so ridiculously confusing and scary i can’t even—”

“harry,” zayn smiles, all clear and bright like he’s realized something, trapping harry’s head with both his hands. he crashes their forehead together, lips dangerously close that they’re breathing each other’s scent. “for god’s sake, shut up.”

“m’sorry,” harry tries to tell him, but zayn’s breathing harry in and pulling their lips together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. which harry supposes, yeah it really is. but it still takes him a full minute to comprehend what’s happening, heart skipping a strong beat at the indication.

“so, let me take a gander here and say you fancy me too?” harry asks, eyes wide like he doesn’t quite believe this is all real. he knows it’s cliché but he can feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach. bloody butterflies.

zayn rolls his eyes and shakes his head slightly, “no. you idiot, i love you.”

he’s quite amused to be honest, because zayn’s got harry blushing like mad and sputtering out weird noises like he doesn’t know what to say. he catches the latter duck his head sheepishly to avoid zayn’s eyes which makes zayn laugh even more, all twinkling and charming, until they’re kissing to drown the sounds out.

“so that was amazing,” harry says after a moment, “are we a thing, now, then?”

zayn nods, smiles at the memory of louis and liam snogging and feels a sense of déjà vu because they’ve really come this far, haven’t they? tells harry just that and adds, “but there are some conditions.”

“oh, so we’re on conditions now?” harry asks, eyes sparkling with mirth.

a chuckle.

“no more flirting with the rest.”

harry starts to protest—

“yes harry, that means kissing. snuggle all you want.”

harry agrees and feels his heart pound piercingly. his head arches up unconsciously towards zayn who’s edging closer and closer as the seconds tick by, faces now mere inches.

“no more flirting. right. okay,” harry whispers out of breath, like a broken record.

his eyes close instinctively when zayn grabs the sides of his head and peppers kisses all over harry’s face lightly. it’s distracting; harry doesn’t know how long he can keep up.

“no more petty nonsense and avoiding each other.”

harry nods, hearing himself moan with zayn situated between his open thighs and currently focusing on harry’s left collarbone, leaving a litter of love bites at the crevice. harry’s sure he’ll bruise tomorrow.

“reckon that’s for the best. i’ve gotten quite tired of you snubbing me anyway,” harry admits because not seeing zayn all the time hurt him more than he thought it would. and it scares him sometimes at how little zayn has to even move, just for harry to react in a senseless manner.

“m’sorry, love,” zayn whispers, kissing the side of harry’s jaw in attempt to ask for forgiveness. “i’ve missed you too. loads, to be quite honest.”

and fuck it all, really. because zayn knows harry too damned well, grins at the way harry gasps quite obviously at his hand trailing down to harry’s length. fingers enticing small shivers to harry’s body and gliding effortlessly as zayn kisses harry on the lips this time.

harry wants to tell zayn he’s an arse for teasing and to stop being so bloody smug about everything. but he’s giving harry that look again, eyes bright like zayn’s finally seen through him. it does things to harry’s heart, making him all giddy and turned on and excited all at the same time.

he didn’t think that was possible.

“you drive me mad, zayn malik.”

zayn smirks knowingly because harry never could stay cross at him for long. so he replies with ‘i love you’ instead, pressing his lips once more to harry’s like he’s addicted.

the thing is, zayn never wanted harry.

(but things change and people are people and sometimes, it works out).

“oi, love birds!”


it’s officially summer and naturally, louis wants to commend the holiday by getting absolutely plastered the first day.

(“no ifs, ands, or buts from you lot. i expect everyone to get incredibly pissed tonight.”

louis beams, almost blindingly like the sun. it hurts harry’s eyes.

“but i’m tired,” liam retaliates.

“and sexless for the rest of the week, if you don’t cooperate,” louis counters.

“pity,” zayn admits.

the rest of them snigger rigorously.

“for god’s sake, fine!” liam sighs in agony, “bloody alcoholics.”

“clever lad,” louis says, pecking his lips with a grin.)

harry untangles himself from zayn, all breathless and panting for air. he looks up at louis with a decidedly murderous glare for interrupting, like he’s about to kill him in a minute.

louis blatantly ignores him.

“we’ve been waiting outside for ages,” louis gestures at the door with an amused look, feigning annoyance. “five more minutes, you said! five bloody minutes ‘cause you weren’t proper enough to go out. and yet, here i find you lot snogging like some deprived rabbits!”

harry hears zayn chuckle. it comes out broken and a little awkward, one hand covering his mouth and framing it as a cough instead. harry scowls and punches zayn’s arm lightly.

“now get your bloody arses outta there,” louis says as he pulls them out of the couch and drags them both by the arm without much resistance, “and let’s celebrate!”

they leave zayn’s flat with satisfied looks on their faces, hair a little mussed and cheeks tinting red with the same change of clothes.

-

“that final project of yours,” harry blurts out randomly, stares at their intertwined hands as the group walks towards their local. “you must love me a lot, yeah? since canvases are so important to you and—i mean, er. you haven’t really told me why and you know what, never mind.”

he gapes a bit at the confession and almost slaps himself for rambling pointless things.

zayn kisses harry’s cheek and feels his heart swell at the way harry blushes a deep pink, embarrassed for even mentioning it in the first place.

he gives their tangled hands a small squeeze and says, “i told you, you were interesting, didn’t i?”

harry laughs awkwardly, the back of his hand covering his mouth because of fucking course zayn would say something like that. he thinks it’s rather flattering though and believes zayn all the same.

“bloody cheese.”

zayn beams like he’s in love. harry’s starting to think he can get quite used to this.