Chapter Text
"Hey! Ignoring our old friends, are we?"
Liam pauses mid-stride, and turns to where Niall is beaming from the end of the street, hand raised in greeting.
"Niall," Liam says, grinning back. Niall may have grown stubble and a jawline, but his impish eyes and ruffled bleached hair haven't changed. He's missed him.
"Liam," Niall mocks, jogging over to fall in step with him. "Am I early or are you late?"
"A bit of both," Liam admits, laughing when Niall does, and then asking jokingly: "Don't suppose Louis'll be there yet?"
"Lou's always either three hours too early or too late," Niall says, with mock pedantry. "Maybe having a baby makes you more responsible."
There's a beat, and then Liam snorts.
"Yeah, right."
Both of them start snickering with great maturity, and Liam forgets that he's closer to thirty than he is to twenty, and feels like a nervous X-factor contestant hesitantly laughing along to the Irish kid's infectious humor, or a boy band member on stage giggling about inside jokes.
"Louis's spoilin' him rotten," Niall says, still smiling. "Freddy's gonna end up a total brat."
"Runs in the family," Liam says, fondly. Then he adds: "Besides, we all spoil him just as bad."
"Reckon Hazza and Zayn are the worst, though," Niall says. Then he winces. "I hope they're not ever having kids, or it'd be a disaster."
"What, like they'd be bad parents or we'd spoil them to death?"
"Are you kidding? Have you seen Zayn and Harry with kids? I mean we'd make them into little monsters."
They're almost at the house, the streetlights flicking on with an audible hum now that sunlight is fading fast. Liam's glad there's no paps around yet- probably when they leave there will be.
Zayn and Harry's London "house" is really just a converted apartment building, all a mix of Victorian class and minimalist decor. It must've cost a fortune, but then again none of them are exactly short on money, and Harry's just landed himself a movie role.
"Nice place," Niall comments. "I'm not surprised it's Zayn and Harry's."
"So dramatic," Liam laughs. "So artsy."
"Remember Harry's scenes in Perfect, though?"
"Oh my god."
Their laughter slows as they reach the gate, left open. Liam peers up the second floor balcony, then halts.
"Wha-" Niall begins, when Liam slaps out an arm to stop him, then follows his perplexed glance upwards.
"Louis?"
There's a scuffling noise, and then Louis's ruffled hair and disgruntled face appear over the balcony railing.
"What the hell are you doing up there?" Niall asks, amused.
"They wouldn't open, and I couldn't bear looking at them anymore, so I got bored and climbed up."
"Were you sleeping?" Liam asks, reproachful.
"I would have been, if you hadn't come and woken me up," Louis retorts, huffing.
"And broken your neck if you woke up and stood too quickly?" Liam says, dryly. Just thinking of Louis sleepily tottering over the railing makes his blood run cold.
"I wouldn't have done that," Louis reassures, waving his hand. "Don't worry so much, Li."
"Yeah, and then you break your neck and how am I supposed to feel about it?" Liam grumbles.
"Uh," Louis says, for some reason glaring at Niall, who seems supremely entertained. "You- don't you say a word."
"What?" Liam asks, confused now.
Niall smiles broadly. "Louis and I had a nice eye-opening chat the other day."
"Shut the- shut up." Louis yelps, and then clambers over the side of the railing.
"Louis!" Liam warns, before he does something stupid and jump down.
"I'm not gonna scale the wall," Louis argues. "It's not that high a drop."
"Louis," Liam sighs.
"Liam can catch you," Niall suggests. Louis' eyes flash. Liam frowns, because that is definitely not a good combination for his future sanity.
"Fuck off," Louis says proudly, then jumps. Liam grabs him halfway down, grunts at the impact and sets him down heavily.
Why these boys, he doesn't know.
"Not on my watch."
Niall is pissing himself silent laughing, and Louis seems somehow three shades redder than before. Liam decides he doesn't want to know.
"Wait, so why did they not let you in?"
Louis pauses in his attempt to discreetly strangle Niall to pull a face.
"They're busy."
"Ew," Niall says, sounding chuffed. "Can I see?"
"Niall," Liam groans.
"Not like that, you perverts," Louis says, cringing. "I mean they're- oh, go see for yourselves."
Niall and Liam look at each other and shrug.
Louis follows them reluctantly to the door, where Niall knocks several quick beats before shrugging. Liam goes next, a loud bang that shakes the door but gets no response.
"See?" Louis says, hands in his pockets. "Go see the window."
The window is a bit high, but on tip-toes even Niall can see through.
"It's sickening," Louis groans, once they're all watching. "I know these people."
Liam smiles, slowly. Harry and Zayn are not, in fact, making out loudly in some obscure corner- far worse, in Lou's eyes, is the domesticity of the scene.
Harry's in the kitchen, earphones plugged in, singing loudly along to what Liam is pretty sure is Nicki Minaj, hips jutting out to hit the cupboard shut as he dances around the room, completely immersed in his own bubble.
Something's in the oven; something baking that explains the haze of flour Harry is spinning in, like fairy dust around him in the kitchen's soft glow. Liam feels hungry and immensely fond all in one, which is a strange mix of emotions that he doesn't want to think through.
The baby of the group.
Harry's hair is so short- even after seeing it in pictures, it's jarring, makes him lose five years, makes his dramatic twirling a lot more heart-clenching and nostalgic.
"Okay," Niall says, breaking the silence. Liam looks back at him, and at Louis, who's hastily pretending he hasn't been looking at Harry's dancing with endeared eyes. "So Hazza's busy, but where's Zayn?"
Louis points.
"That is pretty domestic," Liam has to admit. Louis gives him a look like I KNOW, RIGHT?
Zayn is fast asleep on the couch in the sitting room, face burrowed under pillows, his currently bronze hair in soft curls, a blanket half-draped over him. Liam has a fierce envy to pull him to his chest and ruffle his hair.
His arm is dangling off the sofa, and Harry's taken his book from where he presumably dropped it and set it down next to him. Between Harry singing cheerfully in the kitchen and Zayn sleeping deeply on the couch, the scene hits Liam's admittedly soft heart like a freight train. He's not surprised Louis ran away.
"Well, waking Zayn is impossible," Niall sighs. "We'll have to get Hazza's attention when the music fades."
“Why did it have to be Harry and Zayn,” Louis sighs. “They’re horrible. I bet you they’re going to be the couple with the romantic drama lifestyle movie. No, I bet you they’re going to get married in like a year, then divorce, then marry again. Actually, they’ll just be the people in The Notebook.”
“Because you’ve watched The Notebook?” Liam asks, eyebrow raised.
“I’m just saying,” Louis says, loudly, “Harry and Zayn are the worst.”
“Oh, yeah, maybe we should have had another One Direction couple,” Niall grins. “What about you and- mghdfhf.”
“You two keep going on like that and I’m going to start thinking Larry was real or something,” Liam sighs. He has an inkling of what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.
Both Niall and Louis pull the same face of distaste, ending their brief scuffle. Both have flushed cheeks and ruffled hair- it’s cute. Everyone is being cute tonight. Liam sighs.
“Maybe we can throw Niall through the window,” Louis suggests.
“Maybe Liam can kick the door in,” Niall says, eagerly.
“Maybe we can just knock on the window,” Liam counters. And he does. Continuously.
Harry pauses mid-twirl, looking around in confusion, and then his eyes go to the window and he beams. Liam waves.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Louis groans. “I did that about fifty times.”
“You’re too petite to make an impact,” Niall says, cheekily.
“I’ll show you petite,” Louis retorts. Liam grabs them both before they can go at it again. Niall and Louis reunited always ends up in a giggling bunch of teenagers.
The door opens with an enthusiastic bang, and they all scurry back to find Harry giving them a huge dimpled smile, eyes crinkled with excitement.
“Hey!”
“Harry Styles,” Louis says, prodding his chest with vigor, “I have been standing outside contemplating your disgusting domestic lifestyle for half an hour, and I am profoundly upset.”
“Aw, Lou,” Harry laughs, not guilted in the least, and hugs him. Louis ruffles his hair with purpose, causing the baby of the band to jump back and yelp.
“Heya, Styles,” Niall grins, exchanging a complicated handshake and uncomfortably long hug with him before Liam finally gets his turn to have Harry wrap himself around.
“Oomph.”
“Hi, Payno,” Harry snorts, then releases them. “Sorry for the wait, I was baking.”
“So he gets an apology and I don’t? Nice.” Louis bitches. Harry winks. “You’ll have apology enough later, Lou.”
Louis’ lips twitch. “Yeah, I better.”
“Oh, shit,” Harry says, smacking a floury hand to his forehead suddenly. “Zayn’s still asleep. He’s going to murder me.”
He spins on his heel and gestures them in, leaving Liam to shut the door as Harry sprints towards the living-room and comes to a screeching halt close to the couch, padding his way closer to- his boyfriend, Liam supposes. Oh, that’s still weird to think of. Not in the sense that he’s surprised, or anything- they’re all horribly close, but Harry and Zayn have always been each other’s special people. Both too sexual and too sweet to be just that.
Harry bends over to crouch by the couch, carefully shakes Zayn’s shoulder- so soft and gentle Liam’s heart squeezes and Niall latches onto his arm exaggeratedly.
“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, without having turned. “”M just trying not to get my arse beat.”
“You have no arse to beat, Harry,” Louis laughs. Niall makes a whip sound.
Harry gives them both the finger, then prods Zayn.
“Zaaaaayn. I’m going to sit on you.”
"M awake," Zayn says, eye cracking open. His words are slurred with sleep, and Liam barely stops himself from scooping him into his arms and cooing.
"How is it," Niall sighs dramatically, "That you look really sexual even when sleepy and not all there?"
"That's Zayn on a daily basis," Harry snickers. Zayn just gives them all a lazy once over with the one whiskey-coloured eye visible from the pillow he's buried his face in, radiating vague satisfaction like a cat being petted.
"Get up, lazy arse," Louis grins, "Else I'll fuck up your hair."
Zayn's eye goes wide with alarm, and he jerks upright just before Louis can grab at him, cheeks still flushed pink with sleep and lacking a shirt.
Liam diverts his eyes. He's only human.
His bandmates lack his decency- Niall takes it in happily and winks cheerily when Zayn finally stops glaring at Louis (also distracted by his obnoxiously attractive friend), and Harry is shamelessly ogling him, which Liam supposes is fair and also nothing new.
"Food?" Liam suggests, meeting Zayn's discreetly smug amused glance.
Harry seems about to make a very inappropriate comment about a different meal option, so Louis smacks a hand across his mouth and gestures for Zayn to get moving.
"Ugh," Zayn groans, eyes still half closed as he stretches slowly. "You guys have no right to force me up. You woke me in the first place."
"Are you telling me you've been awake since I arrived HALF AN HOUR AGO?" Louis asks.
"Mhm," Zayn shrugs.
"Food," Liam repeats, firmly throwing an arm around Louis and reeling him in as Harry and Niall giggle hysterically.
Louis shuts up. Liam could almost swear he's blushing.
Zayn looks supremely entertained, all of a sudden. The look he exchanges with Niall does not bode well for anyone. When Zayn teams up with one of their mischief-makers, it spells devastation.
Harry hauls Zayn to his feet and lets him almost automatically wrap an arm around him (isn't that a familiar sight) before leading the way to the kitchen.
"C'mon, babe, don't bully poor Lou."
"I do no such thing," Zayn mumbles, smirking over Harry's shoulder at Louis, who flips him off.
"I'm starving," Niall announces. "What are we eating?"
Liam can't help but laugh at that. It feels like 2013.
By the time Harry's brought them all their shepherd's pies, Zayn's mildly alert, and Louis and Niall are roaring with laughter about some charity football game they went to. The table applauds Harry's cooking ("If I didn't cook, we'd starve"), and then the meal actually starts.
It's not- different. Liam was wondering, not overtly, but wondering, because it's the first time they're all five together again after the split.
Since Harry and Zayn have become a Thing ("Feckin' finally!), they've all sort of met up by twos and threes, but it's the first time they've all managed to be there at the same time, in between Harry's movie and Louis' baby and everyone's hectic lifestyles.
Liam had wondered if it'd have changed inherently since their old days, but it hasn't. They have, of course, there's a definite shift in all of them, but it doesn't feel off.
Niall and Louis joke around, and Louis mocks, and Niall stuffs his face, and Liam gets teased and replies with a dead-pan teasing, and Zayn and Harry flirt, and Zayn is pretty and Harry is charming and it's all the same.
"Remember Zayn in drag?" Louis says, nostalgically, swirling his spoon around. "Those were good times."
"For some of us more than others," Niall grins, filthily, eyeing the hosts.
Harry's eyes go glassy. Zayn bats his eyelashes at them, the toothy smile he gives enough to make Liam cough loudly and stare at his empty plate attentively.
"Wonder what Zayn would look like in drag now?" Louis asks, snickering as Zayn winks. "Huh, Hazza?"
"Bit stubbly," Liam mutters, thinking of holy things and dead babies. Slow breaths.
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Harry breathes, cheeks dusted with pink, eyes still blank and glittering. Liam doesn't know if looking at him or Zayn is worse.
Niall loses it, suddenly, throwing his head back to cackle loudly, and Louis follows soon after, Zayn's snort making Liam follow suit. Harry only shakes himself awake when they all stop laughing, stare now sharp and decidedly inappropriate every time it edges towards Zayn.
"Jesus," Niall wheezes. "Liam's gonna die. You guys are terrible."
"Liam's fine," Louis stresses, then nudges him. "Right, Payno?"
"I'm not that prudish anymore," Liam complains. He regrets it the moment four pairs of suddenly lit eyes bore into him. "Okay, okay, a bit, don't-"
"Really, Liam?" Niall asks, purring exaggeratedly. "Not prudish, are we?"
Liam jumps. Louis blinks innocently at him, but he knows that was his hand.
"Oi!"
"What?"
"That's so interesting, Liam," Harry says, languid. His eyelids have lowered like they do when his seductive mind-games kick in. "I'm sure we're all so glad to know you're okay with a little more...adult things."
Niall whistles. Harry cracks half a smirk.
Zayn, Liam notes, looks somewhat proud, which says something.
"Aw, guys, we shouldn't tease," Louis sermons, which is both ridiculous and hypocritical, given his current hand placement.
"Fuck off," Liam grumbles, ears red. "You know what I meant."
"He's made a lot of progress," Zayn agrees, patiently, scooping a spoonful of mousse. "We should encourage Liam."
There's a pause. Liam waits, because he knows Zayn Malik, and he's an arse. Zayn taps his spoon thoughtfully.
Louis' eyes are sparkling with mischief like he hasn't seen them in years, and Niall's already half giggling, and Harry's face is a disturbing yet endearing mixture of excitement and smugness. Liam is torn between being very worried for himself and very amused.
"Isn't that right, Li?" Zayn asks, voice like honey, and then licks his spoon off purposefully.
The entire table has a mild aneurysm. Louis' hand on Liam's leg jerks away, and Niall chokes on his mousse. Liam buries his face in his hands.
"I hate you so much, Zayn."
Zayn laughs, and then laughs and laughs like he's surprised himself, and though it takes a while for the other four to frantically attempt to rid themselves of Bad Mental States, his laughing is so giggly it eventually sets Harry off too.
Liam tears up a bit, but he doesn't mind being teased about it. He's missed them.
By the end of the night, Liam, Louis and Niall are spread on top of each other on the sleeper, somehow comfortable even if Louis’ bony knees are digging into Liam’s side and Niall is basically lying on his face, making loud sound-effects every time Harry and Zayn’s whispers reach them from the other couch.
It’s not weird, somehow, even when Harry starts laughing really noisily and then kisses Zayn all over his face while Zayn bats him off half-heartedly. They were always big on PDA, anyway.
“Isn’t it weird how not weird it is?” Liam whispers, lowly, when everyone is quiet and Niall’s snoring softly into his shoulder.
Louis shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah.”
“Lou?”
“It’s nothing,” Louis grumbles. Then he relents: “They- aw, fuck. They’re really- I can’t say this shit.”
Liam waits him out, then Louis reluctantly goes: “They’re really in love, you know? It’s…I’m happy that they’re so happy. And it’s, like…They’ll end up married sometime, and they better fucking make me best man.”
He makes an embarrassed noise, almost like he’s sniffing a bit. Louis is a huge softie under his assholery. Liam smiles in the dark, reaches out to tug him in.
“Yeah. And make Freddie ring-bearer.”
Louis nods silently against his chest. Liam’s heart clenches.
“THANKS, LOU!” Harry hollers, making them both jump and Niall almost tumble off the couch, still fast asleep. “LOVE YOU TOO!”
“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Louis screeches, only held back by Liam’s arm as he attempts not to laugh. “You don’t deserve ANY of my fucking kindness, I swear to god-”
“Harry, shut up,” Zayn mutters, face pressed to some part of Harry’s freakishly tall body. “Don’t make me report this to the Larries for posterity.”
Louis and Harry both shudder in unison- Liam catches Zayn’s eyes glinting conspiratorially at him from across the room and grins. He’s forgotten how much he likes having Zayn play with him against the others.
“Can’t help it if everyone loves me,” Harry mumbles, half dryly. Then: “ZAYN, OH MY GOD, STOP.”
There’s a bout of shuffling and then Zayn makes a strangled noise of protest and relents in whatever he was doing.
Louis grimaces. Liam pats his head.
He’s got his boys back.
-
-
Harry tries his damnedest to convince Zayn to come along to his first day on set, but he's forgotten how annoyingly stubborn his long-time best friend is. Behind the casual, uncaring exterior, Zayn's probably as bad as Louis.
"There's no way I'm getting up at six, in any universe." Zayn says firmly once Harry's resorted to whining. "You'll be working on this for ages, there's no bloody reason for me to tag along now."
"But it's my first day," Harry pouts, only to be met by Zayn's very unimpressed look. He sighs, giving up on the puppy eyes. "Can't you just sleep before and get up early?"
"No."
"I can keep you up," Harry suggests then, lips curving up. He likes that plan too.
"That'd only give me more reason to sleep in afterwards," Zayn says reasonably. He looks amused. Harry's not on board with that.
"Fuck you."
"No, it's my turn, I think." Zayn says, with a shrug. Harry kicks him.
"You're not getting a turn if you're being a dick."
"Do we really want to discuss matters of support during solo careers?" Zayn asks, shrewdly. Their eyes meet.
"At least I told you," Harry says, then stops himself. Not worth it.
Zayn seems to decide the same, because he puts down his book with a sigh. "I'll wear that hideous thing you wanted me to wear, but I'm not getting up early."
"Oh, seriously?" Harry says, excitedly. He didn't really care that much about the movie thing anyway- this is much better. "It's not hideous, it's nice, anyway."
Zayn gives him a shrewd look. "I just played myself, didn't I."
"Yeah," Harry smiles, complacently. "Fraid you did."
"Twat."
"Arse."
Zayn rolls his eyes and laughs. Harry thinks he smiles at him like a dumbass for a beat too long, because then they make eye-contact and he has look away rapidly. This blushing thing is highly unfortunate.
"Where did you even get the shirt?" Zayn asks, doubtfully, after a hesitant look at it.
"Well, like," Harry begins. Zayn looks very pained for an instant. "Um, basically, the other day, I went...I went to Camden- not the old Camden, obviously, cause it's closed down, but like, the new one- although it was, um...It was a lot cooler there before it shut down. Anyway- right, yeah, so I went to the thrift store place, and then-"
"Shut the fuck up," Zayn groans. "I can tell when you do it on purpose."
Harry grins, smug. He's forgotten his own long limbs, because then Zayn gets a determined glint in his eye and the next thing he knows he's no longer perched on the couch but in Zayn's lap, the breath knocked out of him for a moment as he blinks at him.
"Oi!"
"Shhh," Zayn says, and kisses him till he shuts up.
Harry doesn't mind. He likes kissing.
"You're not actually upset about the movie thing, are you?" Zayn asks, once they're both a lot less presentable and panting. "Because if you really are, I'll come with."
Harry considers it. "Nah. I mean, I'm a bit nervous about it, and all, but I'll just text you."
"You don't need to be nervous," Zayn says, with a shake of his head. "You've performed in front of billions of people."
"Yeah, only these are like, serious professionals, not screaming fans," Harry replies, reaching for curls that are no longer there. Zayn catches the movement half-way to twine their fingers. It's awfully nice of him.
"I can act. I just want to be excellent."
"You're so lowkey ambitious," Zayn snorts, which is highly hypocritical. "You'll be brilliant, Hazza." His gaze turns vaguely sharp. "After all, we both know you excel at acting."
"Yeah," Harry exhales. Only that was exhausting and existential-crisis inducing. Out loud he says: "But I couldn't do it twice."
Zayn reads between the lines.
"It turned out for the best, though, innit?"
"Gross," Harry groans, burying his face in Zayn's hair just to mess it up a bit and also to hide his face. "You're so sappy."
"Get off my hair," Zayn says, mildly irritated. "Hypocrite."
When Harry's obeyed, he gives him a piercing look.
"You're sure you're good?"
"Mhm," Harry confirms. "Besides, you're a right miserable person when you're tired. I don't need you sulking and snapping at everyone all morning."
"Fuck you," Zayn says, pinching his sides.
"Sure," Harry shrugs. "It is your turn, after all."
The next morning, Harry jolts out of bed far too early. When the band has just started, he used to be a morning person- like all of them, that trait vanished during their first tour. Still, although he and Zayn are certainly in accord over the merits of sleep, when he's got a project like this, he regains his morning adrenalin.
He's dressed by five thirty, them changes his outfit five times. His newly short hair disturbs him, but he looks like someone who could plausibly be acting in a big movie. Zayn's still fast asleep when he peers into the bedroom a last time, feeling weirdly affectionate, like a soldier actually heading to war. Harry hovers by the door and looks at his sleeping form for what could not in any way be considered a non-creepy amount of time, then runs over to kiss his forehead before he stumbles down the stairs.
He's glad they've been staying in Paris, because flying over to Normandy every day would be annoying. It's nice watching the Paris landscape fade into countryside.
In the car, Harry contemplates his life. Louis would say he's an overly philosophical drama queen, which is 100% true, but it's also his #aesthetic, so he indulges his fancy.
The movie is less awe-inspiring than it is exciting. Harry knows there's a lot to live up to- Christopher Nolan took a big gamble picking him, but he saw something there. Harry wants to prove him right- lowkey ambitious indeed. It's a new chapter of his life- he's been so fucking lucky all the way up to here. It's new. He likes having drive again.
Still, if he's always strikingly confident, it doesn't mean he doesn't get stressed. So his leg jiggles all the way up to the set, and he sort of regrets not dragging Zayn along just as a distraction. Even moody Zayn is better than no Zayn.
He's not Harry Styles, international superstar, anymore. Here, the people give no shits about his image and his feelings- they need him to work. Tom Hardy, Christopher Nolan, Christ, that's Oscar material. He's got to ace this- he will.
When the car slows, Harry ponders on just how weird it is so start something this big when it feels like there are four people missing.
By the end of the day Harry's forgotten his nerves. He's been busy- he's tired, actually, forgotten a bit about tight schedules and proper work. Everyone is perfectly nice, and all, especially Harry's crew, who are all lovely, but they're busy too. Nolan is a serious, very intelligent man, but exceedingly quiet- Harry's a bit tense around him, never sure what he's thinking. He thinks he handles it well, though; he's had his experiences with the quiet type. Tom Hardy's there by the afternoon, smiles and shakes hands and seems like the type of dude who owns a lot of dogs. He reminds Harry of a weird mix of Niall and Liam.
Still, it's going well. Harry's been working hard, and working harder to look like he's not. He makes a good impression, though, he can tell- "not the rock and roll child star" some had expected, as one woman says when she thinks he's out of earshot. It's not hard to accomplish, frankly- all he has to do is not act bratty. Still, he thinks Hardy quite likes him, and he's a lad, so Harry's glad.
They're reading through a scene with the writers when a slow hush falls in the room. Which is weird, because although volume magically drops when the actors talk, there's always a background hum. Harry finishes his line, peers over his shoulder, and sees Nolan looking back with an amused smile on his face.
What-?
"The other way," Hardy says, amiably. He gestures to behind him. Harry squints at the suspiciously giggly crew, and then spots him- Zayn's standing by the door, near the back, arms crossed over the artfully large black sweater Gigi had gifted him on their latest day out.
He's obviously just trying to see what's going on without his glasses (Zayn is very vain, although Harry isn't one to judge), but the result is so close to his smolder that a number of the crew near him are fumbling with their equipment distractedly instead of working. Harry gets it- his own pulse jumps for a beat just from seeing him on a regular basis.
The moment he spots him, Harry beams. It's not purposeful- he's just caught off guard, and tired, and he'd been thinking about the long drive back, and now Zayn is here and he'd told him he was busy, the filthy liar, and he's... He's happy to see him.
In the split second that Zayn smiles back, half sheepish, looking faintly embarrassed by the amount of attention he's getting (which is, frankly, very dumb), Harry drops his text, hops over the couch, and dashes over to him, Notebook style. Or it would be Notebook style if it was in slow-motion and everyone wasn't snickering in the background, and if Harry had caressed Zayn's face longingly instead of picking him up and crushing him.
"You came!"
"Oh my god, Harry, no, stop, these people will hate me forever, let go," Zayn hisses furiously, because he's a huge introvert underneath his suave exterior. Harry's too tall for him to escape, though.
Harry releases him still grinning. "I can't believe you lied about having a studio recording."
"I didn't," Zayn says, shifting so none of the giggling crew can spot him from behind Harry. "I just did it all really early so I could get here."
"You got up early, didn't you?" Harry asks, glowing. "You totally did."
"Early-ish," Zayn admits. He looks somewhere between begrudgingly sheepish and vaguely proud.
"You're so cute," Harry tells him, somewhat smirky. He resists the urge to ruffle his hair, because he'd get kneed if he did.
"Get back to acting, Di Caprio," Zayn says, with a scornfully raised brow.
Oh, shit.
Harry turns slowly, then makes an apologetic face. The entire set laughs under their breaths.
"Sorry," he calls. "That was unprofessional."
Nolan smiles vaguely. "Get back to the set, Mr Styles."
"Be right there," Harry says, relieved but passing as friendly. Zayn's looking very endeared, which, yknow, score for Harry.
"Thanks for coming."
"I wasn't just going to let you wreck havoc on the entire movie, was I?"
Harry snorts. "I was doing perfectly fine until you showed up."
"Mhm." Zayn says, a tad too smug to pass as apologetic or even surprised.
"Cocky shit."
"Go," Zayn laughs, then bats him away when Harry kisses his cheek. "This isn't the Notebook, gerroff."
"I'll make you watch that sooner or later!" Harry threatens, jogging backwards so he can look him in the eye. Zayn gives him a very challenging purse of the lips.
He'll succeed sooner or later. Zayn Malik has too many sisters for his own good; they like Harry too much not to help sabotage him.
He clambers back over to stand next to Tom Hardy, who is looking more and more like a friendly lumberjack by the minute. How he keeps getting cast as a gritty badass Harry can't fathom.
"Sorry," Harry whispers. Sort of.
"No worries, kid," Tom Hardy says, pleasantly, handing him his script back. Then, louder, to Zayn: "Hey."
Zayn nods, gives half a wave, looking like he wants to vanish into the shadows when everyone takes this as a prompt to shout greetings at him. He's such a nerd.
An intimidatingly good-looking nerd.
Harry firmly rips his eyes off whatever unfair things the shadows are softening on Zayn, and shakes his head. Okay. War.
"Ready?" Nolan calls.
"Yeah," Harry says. And he is.