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There’s a hint of a headache teasing at the corners of Zayn’s temples when he wakes up the first time. His thighs and arse are a bit sore, as well, and he smiles into his pillow as he smells a cologne on the sheets he doesn’t recognize. His memory is mostly a blank from the night before but he knows it’ll come back to him in waves so he doesn’t fret. His bladder is bothering him more than anything, though, so he shifts to his back and sits up. The sky is dark outside and there’s a lump on the bed next to him. Zayn can see curly hair but the guy’s face is buried in his arms- his thick and tattooed arms- and Zayn slides out of the bed quietly to search for a toilet.
He doesn’t have to go far, a connected bathroom opening up with the first door Zayn tries. He leaves the light off and relieves himself quickly, washing his hands and then putting a dab of toothpaste on his index finger to get rid of his morning breath.
The man is still asleep when Zayn gets back but his head is turned towards him and Zayn takes a second to admire the pretty pout on his lips and the thin line of his lashes before he slips back into bed and rests his head on the free pillow. He yawns into his fist, hoping his memories flood back to him when he wakes up again for real.
He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, won’t if he can get away with it, but he knows it’s now sunny out from the way that his exposed cheek is warm from the light. He turns his face towards his pillow, shrugs the covers higher over his shoulders until they touch his chin, and tries to burrow as deep into the mattress as he can. Before he can get very far, though, he realises he hadn’t woken up on his own; there’s something poking him repeatedly in the calf. He begrudgingly opens his eyes, blinking against the light, and shifts to look down the bed.
Instantly, he’s wide awake, drawing his legs quickly away and turning so he can sit up on his bum. “Hi,” he says dumbly.
“Hi,” he gets chirped back to him from a little boy no older than two. He’s got a thick swatch of dark blonde hair and brilliantly green eyes, the colour bright over the short distance between them. There’s a dimple in his cheek when he smiles, clapping his hands together as he bounces on his bottom. “Hi,” the boy repeats.
Confused, Zayn looks around the room to try and puzzle out who could have brought the boy in. He notices a picture on the wall across from him, a large photograph of a waterfall. The colours are unbelievably bright, the greens and blues of the water shining against the wet rocks behind it as if he’s looking out of a window and not at a memory. Something about it seems familiar to Zayn and he focuses on it for a long moment as if he can spark something in his mind about the night before. It’s pretty clear to him that he’s hooked up with a single father- god, he better be a single father, Zayn thinks to himself quickly- which he doesn’t have a problem with, in theory. He’s just… never met someone’s child before like this.
As he’s looking around, eyes scanning over a record collection that looks like it has a lot of similarity to Zayn’s own, the boy stands on wobbly legs and starts walking towards him. On instinct, Zayn holds out his arms to steady him, letting him walk right onto Zayn’s lap and cuddle up with him. The green of his eyes is almost as unbelievable as the waterfall photo in front of him and Zayn smiles. “Who are you, then?”
The boy laughs, closing his eyes, and doesn’t offer an answer.
Zayn frowns, bouncing him in his arms. He sneaks a sniff of the baby’s hair, letting the scent of his shampoo wash over him. He’s ready to remember what had happened the night before, doesn’t have the dry mouth and pounding head that usually comes with a blackout, but he feels like the thoughts are right on the edge of his awareness, just beyond his reach.
Feeling like he’s missing some helpful hint, he drags his eyes along the room again. He spots a tape on the nightstand on his side, next to a glass of water and two small paracetamols. Zayn, watch me is written on a sticky note and Zayn smiles, confused, as he scoots closer to the edge. He keeps one hand sure against the little one’s back, natural from all of his practice with his baby sister and his littlest cousins, and stands with the child on his arm to grab the tape with his free hand. There’s a telly with a VCR hookup right on the edge of the dresser, and Zayn pops it in before grabbing the remote and settling into a comfy armchair setup right in front of it. “Let’s see what all this is about,” he says.
The child in his arms is fast asleep, though, and Zayn smiles at him before pressing play.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long,” plays on the tape, a black screen with white words appearing first. Good morning, Zayn, the screen reads before the words disappear. This might be a shock to you, but… before those words disappear as well.
Zayn’s smile quickly fades when he sees newspaper clippings from Telegraph & Argus flash across the screen, pictures of a car that he immediately recognizes as his smashed and wrapped around a tree. His whole body goes cold, his arms tightening around the little boy like he’s a security blanket for Zayn’s fear. The newspaper stories- three in all- tell him quickly that no one else was injured in the accident, just Zayn, and that he was in a medically-induced coma for three weeks.
“Unfuckingreal,” Zayn mutters on an exhale.
The stories fade and the screen cuts to a shaky picture, someone holding a camcorder, before they must place it on a table. Two men walk into view, Zayn’s father and a young man Zayn doesn’t know. “Salam, beta,” Yas says with a grin. “I know those pictures look scary- I lost years from my life when I first heard the news. But, everything is okay, now; you’re okay, now. You’ve got a scar on the left side of your head from the car crash but you’re otherwise unharmed.”
“Physically,” the unknown man adds, his voice deep. Zayn lifts one hand to feel for the scar, the little boy in his lap shifting with his movements and blinking awake. The green eyes of the boy in Zayn’s lap match those of the unknown man on the telly and Zayn feels his stomach flip. “Your body healed but some parts of your brain didn’t. You have a condition called Goldfiend’s Syndrome, where you have trouble storing memories made after the accident.”
“You asked us to film you a video explaining some of the things you may forget, and you keep a journal in the top drawer of your nightstand with your thoughts put down in your own words. Here are a few key things, though,” his dad says.
“First thing,” the boy says with a smile that Zayn finds somehow soothing and calm. “My name is Harry.” The screen fades out and Zayn watches, eyes wide enough to hurt, when he sees video clips of Harry and him, together. Harry’s holding him in every shot: an arm low around Zayn’s waist as they sit on barstools together, rooting on a footie game; Zayn wrapped around Harry like a koala, legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he kisses all over Harry’s face; a video of them napping on his parent’s sofa, Zayn on his back with Harry’s head pillowed on his stomach; and a shot of them at what is clearly their wedding, Zayn in navy cotton pants and Harry wearing similar ones in white. They have loose button-downs and are standing, barefoot, on a beach somewhere with ridiculously blue water lapping at the shore. Harry is crying and laughing, pulling Zayn in for a kiss with a hand on his hip.
Zayn pauses the video- can’t take in any more right now- and holds the little boy closer. “Baba?” the boy, his son though he doesn’t know how he could have ever forgotten, asks. “Baba cry,” he says, reaching a hand up to pat at Zayn’s cheek. Zayn laughs, a wet sound in his throat and the taste of his tears on his tongue when his lips part in a full-toothy grin.
“I’m crying, yes,” he says, shifting the boy so he can give him a big hug. “Hello, beta,” he says. “How many days have I not known you?”
“Baba, stop. Tight.” Zayn loosens his hug, trying to get his son settled on his lap but he wiggles and pushes at Zayn’s hold to be let down. “No,” he says, though he’s still smiling. “Brekkie.”
“Time for breakfast?” Zayn asks, standing and following as the boy toddles out of the room on steady, chubby legs.
“There you are, Finn. What were you doing, waking baba up?” Zayn hears, looking up to find Harry coming up to them, his hair a little longer than it had been in the video. Finn giggles, high-pitched and delighted, before he turns and toddles around the corner. Neither Zayn nor Harry chase after him, as Zayn’s too busy staring at Harry’s bare chest.
There are just so many tattoos.
“Good morning,” Harry says with a smile, ducking his head to meet Zayn’s eye. “Did you watch the tape? Sometimes you don’t if Finn worms his way into the room.”
Zayn feels like he’s underwater, words and other sounds seeming muffled and distorted, but he can see Harry’s smile as clear as day. It calms him, especially when he sees the dimple in his cheek that matches Finn’s own like a mirrored image.
“Hi,” he says, his voice somehow cracking around the single syllable. He clears his throat. “Hi,” he repeats. “Erm, I watched up to our wedding. Is there much more?”
Harry shakes his head. “Only a little. Mostly about Finn. You can watch it or we can just talk about it.”
Zayn looks around at the room they’re in, a two-storey tall great room with wall-to-wall marble floors and plush, fancy furnishings. “Maybe you can tell me where we are?” he suggests.
Harry flushes. “Yeah, f’course. This is… home. For now. I’m a law professor but I took sabbatical so we rented this place. We’re in Corfu for the year, about a month into it. Let me give you a tour.”
“Are you old enough to take sabbatical?” Zayn asks before realising he doesn’t know how old he is.
Harry smiles though, as if he’s heard this before. “I’m thirty and you’re thirty-one,” he says. “Finn will be two in a couple of weeks.”
“How long have we been together?” Zayn asks, letting Harry place a hand on his lower back as he begins leading Zayn through the house.
“Almost eight years,” Harry says. “To the left is the dining room but we only eat in there when it’s raining. To the right is the kitchen: your favorite room besides the nursery. Let’s see.” They cross through under the big, double-wide archway that leads into the kitchen. Zayn can see why he loves the room so much- it’s completely modern and state of the art, stainless steel appliances including a double oven. There’s even an- “ice cream machine?” Zayn asks with a grin, taking three strides over to it and looking in the top. “This is amazing.”
“One of the must-haves was a big kitchen,” Harry says, leaning his hip against the counter. “We both like cooking and having our families come down for long weekends.”
The sound of feet slapping the floor bleeds into the room and Zayn turns to watch Finn wander in, his trousers having somehow disappeared so he’s in just his diaper and his t-shirt. “Naked baby,” Zayn says as Finn stomps over to him, hands up to be held. “How did we come across this little guy?”
The soft and fond look on Harry’s face is addicting. One glance of it and Zayn makes a resolution to inspire it as many times as possible before he loses these memories. He walks to Harry’s side, dipping Finn on his hip to make him laugh before righting him again.
“We had a surrogate carry him for us. It took awhile to find a surrogacy to work with us since most were concerned with your memory loss but we found the perfect match eventually. There’s, erm, another thing to tell you,” Harry says, looking at Zayn out of the corner of his eye.
Zayn blinks slowly, expecting bad news due to Harry’s hesitation.
“We have a little girl on the way. She’s six months old and is from Bihar. Your father knows someone who knew “someone” important and they’ve sponsored us for the adoption on the basis of how well we’re doing with Finn, so we should have her home soon. You wrote about it a lot in your journal so you might want to look that over after breakfast.”
Zayn smiles, the stretch hurting his cheeks. “A little girl?” he repeats. “This is… wild.”
Harry’s expression mirrors his own as he steps closer, his hand settling on the dip of Zayn’s waist and tugging him in. In a natural reaction, Zayn tips his head back for a kiss, Harry crowding Finn in between them as he captures Zayn’s bottom lip and lets the edge of his teeth graze the plump middle. Zayn exhales, a wisp of something that teases like a memory floating through his mind.
“Was that okay?” Harry asks in a whisper.
Zayn blinks, opening his eyes and looking up at Harry. “Yeah,” he says, “that was… great.”
Breakfast consists of Cheerios and quick toast because Harry says they made up all the good things to eat the day before and they have to do a big shop soon. “I don’t want to,” Zayn says immediately, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. “I’ve only got today with you, I don’t want to waste it going for groceries.”
Harry’s smile is sad but still lovely as he nods in agreement and leans in for a second kiss. “Okay, love,” he breathes. “We’ll do whatever you want today.”
“You mentioned a journal?” Zayn asks, spooning first sugar and then milk from the bottom of the bowl over the top of his cereal pieces.
“You usually write in it every day so you have something to reference that is in your own words and thoughts. You keep it in your nightstand drawer.”
“Do you sleep in bed with me?” Harry levels him a look that makes Zayn flush and then shake his head. “I mean… do you wake up before me every morning just so I don’t wake up with a stranger?”
A veil drops over Harry’s face at that. “’M not a stranger,” he says. “I know what you mean,” he continues quickly when Zayn furrows his brow in empathy and guilt. “I sleep in our bed with you but I almost always wake up before you and tend to Finn while you’re finishing your sleep and watching your video.”
Zayn muddles his spoon through his bowl. “Doesn’t seem right that I don’t get up with the baby like you do.”
“Sure you do,” Harry protests. “Maybe not as much, and never after REM sleep. But you raised Finn with me- fifty-fifty. You’re his baba.”
“Baba,” Finn echoes as if in agreement, smacking his hand on his tray and scattering his remaining cereal pieces.
Without thinking, Zayn’s muscle memory propels him forward and out of his seat, kneeling next to Finn to gather up the spilled pieces. “We don’t waste food, beta,” Zayn says in a calm voice, kissing Finn’s forehead before he stands. He doesn’t ask where the bin is, just thinks for a second about where he would have placed it and crosses over to the sink. He pulls open the cabinet to the left and smiles when he sees he guessed correctly. He bins the pieces, wiping his palm on his pajamas, and turns to face the table again.
“I think I’d like to read my journal, now, if that’s okay.”
Harry nods. “Of course. You, um…”
“What?”
“You usually like to read it in the nursery- the view is… ridiculous.”
Zayn smiles and walks over to where Harry is still seated. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, leaning in and kissing Harry’s cheek. “Should I take Finn?”
Harry’s smile is big and bright again. “Nah, the little lad and I are going to hang around together. We’ll come get you in a little bit if you don’t find us first.”
Zayn nods before heading into the bedroom and crossing over to his nightstand. He finds the journal right on top- just where Harry said it’d be- and picks it up. It isn’t a small, leatherbound book like Zayn had been picturing in his mind. Instead, it’s a thick binder with colour-coded tabs on the inside and empty pages in the pockets for future entries. He realises that he’s been writing things down for years upon years- almost eight if he’s done it as long as he’s known Harry- and he’s glad to see the care and effort he has put into storing his memories. Besides the binder, the drawer holds dozens of lollipops and other sweets, making Zayn laugh before he grabs two pieces and walks out of the room.
“Second door on the left at the top of the stairs,” Harry calls out.
“Cheers,” Zayn acknowledges before taking the steps at a jog. He follows Harry’s directions and stops short in the doorway to the nursery, immediately seeing why this room would be his preference.
It’s hardly a large room- looks like a double-sized wardrobe with a crib and dresser taking up nearly a third of the space each- but there’s a floor-to-ceiling sliding door walking out to a balcony and Zayn can already see from the inside that the view is going to be even more “ridiculous” than he had originally pictured.
He walks around the corner of a rocking chair, studying the childlock on the door before flipping it up and sliding the glass open. The balcony is bigger than it seemed, stretching wider than the room behind him, and outfitted with a beautiful blue awning and four plush loungers. Zayn settles into one at random, his body shifting to fit in a way that tells him this is the one he usually picks, and he breathes in the salty air from the sea for a long moment before turning to the journal.
A pen is clipped to the front, one of the blue Bic kind that Zayn always preferred in uni. The front page is a key to the colour coding, indicating the reasons for five separate tag categories: red for important, green for financial, yellow for family, purple for hopes and blue for sad things. There are only a few blue pages, mostly purple and yellow throughout the book, and Zayn smiles as he opens it to the first red tab, which also happens to be the first journal entry overall. The entry is written on a much smaller page, as if he had kept a book in the beginning and stored the pages in clear covers when he his memories had grown too big to be bound.
He opens one of his sweets and pops it into his mouth, letting the artificially fruity flavour soak into his tongue as he begins to read.
January 17, 2017
Harry says today is the fifth day I’ve watched the wake-up video (better name pending) and suggested I begin keeping a journal to read and see my own words and thoughts. I’ve got to admit, I understand why I fall in love with him every day. He’s beautiful and kind, and he’s got… a weird sense of humour but it’s funny to watch him laugh at his own jokes. I wish I could remember him.
It doesn’t seem fair that he has to work this hard for me every day. I’m glad he does, glad I get to know him and meet him and care for him, but I want to use this journal to help remind me how much I care for him in return. Because I know I do; I care for him so much and I could probably love him, too. If only I had just one more day with him.
I don’t have another day, though. I think I’m believing that, now. It was hard to really get it at first. The video sounded like a really, really horrible joke until I saw dad’s face as I watched it. I can’t imagine the pain he’s gone through, having to lie to me every day just to keep me happy and feeling safe. Mum handled it better, I just know it, because she’s always taken charge when it comes to serious matters. I remember her talking to me about Grandpa Walter dying. Dad was a mess because he didn’t want us kids to cry but mum sat us down and explained it all and held our hands while dad washed all of our sheets so we’d have somewhere warm to sleep that night.
I wouldn’t trade that memory for anything in the world but it doesn’t seem right that I can remember every second of that day and the way my duvet smelled like Persil but I can’t remember how many times Harry has smiled at me hard enough to dimple or how his lips feel when he kisses me or if we’ve ever had sex.
…I will cry for a decade if I’ve forgotten our first time without having a chance to write about it.
Zayn smiles and wipes his hand over his face, feeling the entry hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been distracted this morning by Finn and then by Harry’s…. everything and he is only now realising exactly what is happening to him. He’s a son, a brother, a husband, a father and he has to be reminded of these simple facts every single day. He forgets Finn’s green eyes and beautiful smile while he sleeps. He doesn’t know how that can possibly be his life.
He skips to the next red page as he finishes his sweet, releasing a breath and telling himself that he is okay and everything else is going to be okay, as well.
June 19, 2018
I asked Harry to marry me today. Dad told me this morning that I was too busy whining about the memories I’ve lost instead of making new ones with the man I love and I was shocked. He doesn’t usually speak like that, which tells me I’ve been more annoying than usual. But, I took his advice.
Harry and I were walking through a farmer’s market and I saw a woman with a cart full of flowers so I bought a bouquet and asked Harry to walk with me down to the centre of town. I asked him, there, with a dozen strangers walking by us without a care in the world as to what we were doing. No one stopped and stared, no one asked questions, no one applauded like they always do in movies. Nothing like that happened, but Harry’s green eyes got wide and he smiled like he does in my videotape and he said ‘yes’.
I trust him and my parents and my friends when they all tell me I did the right thing. Part of me thinks I’m asking him to put his life on hold but he doesn’t seem to look at it that way and I’m going to make the decision to believe that.
Zayn doesn’t move to the next entry for a long minute, trying to process what he’s just read and force a memory of that day in the city square to come back to him. He feels like if he tries hard enough, he can smell the flowers that he held in his hand. He knows his palms would have been sweaty and his lips would have been chapped, and he would have been tapping his toes nervously while he proposed.
He doesn’t know if it rained that day or if the sky was blue and clear; he doesn’t know if his hair was short or long, blonde or blue. He doesn’t need the journal to tell him how deep Harry’s dimple had been but he would like to know if Harry had been flushed a pretty pink from the questions; had Harry’s hair been as long then as it is now? Had he worn it up in a bun or loose around his shoulders? They were walking around together so he can imagine they were dressed casually, but the details that make the day are lost to him and he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt in his gut.
He traces a finger along the page, re-reading it quickly to see if he’s missed any answers to his questions, and pauses when he feels a bump through to the other side. He turns to the next page, fat tears hitting his cheek when he sees petals taped to the page. They’re from a daisy and maybe a tulip, though both are dried with age, and they help settle some of Zayn’s anxiety. He knows some of the flowers that were in his hand, at least, and he knows that someone had the sense to save them. Everything isn’t lost to him completely.
The next red tab also has a blue line down the middle and Zayn steadies himself emotionally before turning to it.
January 12 2020
Happy birthday to me, the universe doesn’t want me to have a child. I don’t even blame the surrogacy agency; they have every reason to refuse us. I wouldn’t even be able to remember the child the day after he’s born. Why would someone carry a baby for us for nine months knowing that I’ll have to be reminded every. single. day. about his very existence?
Harry’s taking it hard, I can tell. There’s nothing we want more than a child and I don’t know what I’ll do if we’re told we can’t have one together. He’ll never leave me- he’s told me as much today and I believed him once I saw the truth in his eyes- but it will kill us, anyway. We’re looking into adoption, Harry says, but that’s sometimes even harder.
I know our my situation is unique and can be difficult but we’re trying our best and we could do so much for a little baby. We just need an opportunity.
Harry says this is only the second agency that’s denied us but I think this is one time he’s lying. I saw the look of acceptance on his face; he’s heard this too many times before.
Memories are awful things, Zayn thinks to himself as he pushes the binder down from his lap. He pulls in a breath through his open mouth, letting his past pain wash over him.
He isn’t paying attention to how long he’s sat with his eyes closed, trying simultaneously to remember January 12, 2020 on his own and forget ever reading the entry at all, so he startles when the sliding door opens and Harry comes out with Finn on his hip. Zayn looks over to him, raising his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun as he takes in Harry and their son’s matching happy expressions.
“You alright?” Harry asks him, his smile fading when he gets a better look at Zayn’s face.
“Gimme the baby,” Zayn says, making grabby hands until Harry hands over Finn, who’s looking around them with fascination as he takes in the trees and far-off sea.
“Which entry were you reading?”
“My birthday when we were told we couldn’t have…” he stops, burying his nose in Finn’s hair and taking a comforting sniff.
“Oh, love,” Harry says, running a hand through Zayn’s hair. “We went through a tough time but we’re okay now.”
“How do you do this?” Zayn asks, getting teary eyed again. “How do you carry the burden of all of our bad times by yourself?”
Harry frowns. “Because that’s what you need me to do,” he says simply. He kneels down next to Zayn’s seat as Zayn shifts so his own feet are on the ground, Finn held tightly in his arms. “Baby, right now you think that me loving you is some kind of chore or job for me but, I promise you, it isn’t. You’re the best thing in my life.”
“Do I ever… not fall in love with you?”
Harry’s eyes are bright and Zayn feels like he will fling himself on the ground and throw a toddler fit better suited for Finn if Harry starts honest-to-god crying because of him. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t let any tears fall but smiles, instead. “Some days you get close but not all the way there,” he answers truthfully. “Every day, though, you accept me and that’s what I aim for. Love is…” Harry laughs when Finn starts fussing. “Let him walk around a little. We’ll keep him safe.”
Zayn slips off of the chair and to the ground, using his back to push the lounger and give Finn more room to toddle around between them.
“Love is so stupid, you know?” Harry continues, one hand out to guide Finn away from the rail when he wanders too near. “People say that word all the time without really thinking about it. It’s beautiful, and it’s what makes life bearable, but I don’t need to hear it from you every day to know you feel that way.”
Zayn shakes his head. “This is… this seems like it’s completely unreal.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“You would do the same for me,” Harry says. When Zayn shakes his head again, Harry presses the point. “You don’t know that you would because you’re not on my side of it. You’re only seeing it from yours, which is fine. But, I can guarantee that you would do this for any single person you love in your life. You would do it for your parents, your family, your friends, Finn…”
“I guess so.”
“C’mere.”
“The baby-”
“C’mere.”
Zayn sighs around a smile and scoots forward, caging Finn between them until Harry can reach him for a kiss.
“I love you, Zayn Javadd Malik, and I will love you every single day of my life. If that means I sometimes have to remind you that you love me in return, then I am okay with that.”
“I’m okay with that, too,” Zayn responds quickly, leaning back in for another kiss. Harry’s mouth is intoxicating, his lips soft with something that smells like coconut, and Zayn sighs. “I wish I could remember how many times we’ve done this.”
“Eleven thousand and fifty seven.”
Zayn pulls away and blinks quickly, startled until he sees Harry’s smirk. “You arsehole.”
Harry laughs. “We’ve kept track of a lot of things but not that,” he allows. “I can start right now, though. Let’s see if we can get to a hundred before tonight.”
Zayn laughs against the next kiss, Harry’s lips catching his teeth for a second but Zayn doesn’t care.
Finn- irritated from the lack of attention- sits on his bottom and starts whimpering. He looks between the two of them, big eyes wide and red lips pouty. “No,” he demands. “Daddy, no.”
Harry laughs and gathers Finn up in his arms, meeting a small bit of token protest from the toddler. “He’s a bit possessive of you.”
Zayn smiles. “Yeah?”
“I told you, love: you’re Finn’s baba in every way. Your memory hasn’t affected your ability to parent, just like we told every adoption and surrogacy agency we spoke to it wouldn’t.”
“It’s nice to see it,” Zayn says, holding his hand out to run along Finn’s arms and answering the toddler’s smile with a bright one of his own.
“I think it’s nap time,” Harry says, shifting his legs under him and standing. “Why don’t you read a little more and come find me?”
“I’d like to put him down with you,” Zayn says, standing as well. “I can finish reading after.”
Harry smiles and leans in for a kiss, ignoring Finn’s little fists as they push against his chest. “Daddy, no!”
“How does the memory loss work?” Zayn asks into his mobile, his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear as he scans some of the purple tabs in his journal. Most of his more recent hopes tend to revolve around a little brother or sister for Finn, but some earlier ones had been more focused on finding a cure for his condition. One of his entries had said he’d call home when it got really bad so he’d picked up the phone after watching the rest of his video where Harry explains more about how they met.
Trisha doesn’t answer right away, busy making dinner back home with Zayn’s aunties. He’s been on the phone for almost an hour, having been passed around to speak to everyone before his mum had reclaimed the phone. Harry has come and gone, heading down to the market at Zayn’s insistence while Finn was sleeping and returning with two bags of what he promised would be the best meal of Zayn’s life.
“Mum?” Zayn asks, smiling as he glances over to Finn, who is still sleepy as he finishes waking up in his playpen with a bottle clutched in his hands. Zayn had woken him a few minutes ago, letting his mum babble with the baby while he had warmed a bottle.
“I’m here, sonshine, sorry. Your sister is burning something.”
“As usual.”
”I heard that,” he hears Safaa say in the background and Zayn misses her- all of them- deep in his gut.
“Love, you and Harry have seen a lot of doctors trying to figure out the secret. It hasn’t turned up much, though.”
“I’m a unique case,” Zayn parrots, having seen that phrase earlier in his notebook.
“Yes, you are. You seem to think it has something to do with your REM sleep. If you don’t sleep or if you sleep for a short period of time, you tend to keep the memories you’ve made. But you and Harry decided that you wouldn’t do that anymore: you’re healthier and happier when you sleep.”
“I want to remember them.”
“You do, a little. You dream of Harry most nights and of Finn sometimes. Your memory is… mysterious, sonshine. It’s there but it isn’t and you spend half of the day focused on trying to catch up to the past instead of focusing on the memories you could be making now.”
“You’ve told me this before,” Zayn accuses.
“A few times.”
“Okay, mummy,” Zayn sighs, “I’m gonna go play with the baby. Give dad and the girls my love.”
“I’ve upset you.”
“No, no you didn’t,” he tries to assure her. “I’m just going to take your advice.”
“Love you, Zayn.”
“Love you, too. Bye bye bye bye,” he says, blowing a kiss into the phone before hanging up.
He drums his fingers on the countertop in front of him while Finn sucks down the rest of his milk. There’s a single, solitary orange tab sticking out from the rest and Zayn frowns. There hadn’t been orange listed on the first page and the amount of other tabs has hidden the orange one until now. Zayn carefully flips through the rest of the pages until he can open the binder to it.
HAVE SEX WITH YOUR HUSBAND
Zayn chokes on a laugh, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as he continues reading.
No, seriously. @ Future Zayn: have sex with Harry. He’s great, the best, but it’s more than that. The way he feels, the way he smells and tastes and everything: it triggers memories. Not many and nothing miraculous but you will know him as if you remember him, and that feels amazing after a day of knowing nothing.
Finn starts fussing more in his pen so Zayn quickly shuts the journal and stands up to cross the living room and scoop him up into his arms. “Hi, baby,” he coos, leaving the bottle behind as Finn reaches his hands up to fist his fat fingers in Zayn’s t-shirt. “Sweet beta. Let’s go find daddy.”
The search for Harry only lasts for a couple rooms when Zayn finds him on the front porch, reading a newspaper and relaxing in a rocking chair. He looks over when the front door opens, standing and crossing over before Zayn can latch it closed behind him.
“Everything okay?” Harry asks.
“Just… I’m finished with reading my journal and we wanted to spend some time with you.”
“Let’s go for a little walk, then?” Harry suggests, smiling when Zayn nods. “Will you get Finn ready while I pack a bag? We’ll have a picnic lunch.”
“Sounds lovely,” Zayn agrees, tilting his chin up for a kiss that Harry eagerly gives him. Zayn holds it for a second too long, desperate for one of the promised memories, and Finn starts wriggling and whimpering in his hold. Zayn laughs against Harry’s lips before he pulls back. “What’s wrong, little prince?” he teases.
“Little prince?” Harry repeats, eyes bright. “That’s what my mum called Finn when he was born.”
“Kissing works, then,” Zayn says, almost under his breath.
“Sorry?”
“I’ll tell you on the walk,” Zayn promises, pressing a kiss to Finn’s forehead to quiet his fussing before he turns to walk back into the house.
Harry covers Finn’s ears where the baby is sat in front of him, his expression scandalised. “Having sex with me brings back your memory?” he hisses.
Zayn rolls his eyes and tilts his face up to the sun. “It doesn’t magically restore it,” he says. “Just… you’re familiar to me, I suppose, and so it must make me feel like I know you. And stop covering Finn’s ears- he has no idea what we’re saying.”
“It’s just a reflex,” Harry says, uncovering Finn’s ears but looking no less shocked. “You’ve never told me this before.”
“Maybe I don’t usually read the orange tab. There must be a reason I don’t list it in the front.”
Zayn turns his head so he can see Harry, watching his husband look out over the green grass in the park as if he can see the ocean where it’s hiding behind a wall of trees. Harry looks like that often, Zayn realises, like he could see more, see further, if he just tried a bit harder. It makes Zayn wonder if Harry is looking for something specific.
“I love you,” Zayn says, getting Harry’s attention. “You said earlier that I sometimes don’t get to that place every day but, in all the journal entries I looked over, it’s clear to me how much I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Harry answers, leaning towards Zayn and pressing a kiss to his sun-warmed cheek.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, letting Finn wander around and pick up random twigs before throwing them to the ground and clapping like he’s invented the best game ever.
“Is there anything you would like to do today?” Harry asks, curiosity in his tone instead of expectation.
Instead of answering right away, Zayn holds Harry’s gaze for a long moment before turning his head and watching a family playing on their own blanket across the park from them. He smiles when the little boys chase after a football.
“Today…” Zayn says, letting his word trail out. “I only have today, you know, so I want to read my entire journal and watch my entire video and any versions that came before this one and I want to just... learn everything about our lives. But you and Finn have so much more than today. You have so many tomorrows and yesterdays.”
“I don’t understand what this means.”
Zayn sighs, frustrated at himself- at his brain and his syndrome and his inability to communicate his thoughts.
“Take a second and tell me again,” Harry encourages. “I’m pretty fluent in Zayn.”
“I don’t want to live my life like I only have today. I’m not saying I do-” he continues quickly when Harry looks like he might protest, “but a very selfish part of me wants to put my life on pause until I feel like I’ve ‘caught up’. From reading my journal, I think this selfish part dictates more of our days than you may realise.”
“Okay. What should we do?”
“I’m going to write a new journal entry tonight and put it in the front. I’m going to list a schedule of our days- Monday and Friday is for groceries and other errands. Tuesday is for doing the wash. Wednesday is for… whatever we need to set for Wednesdays. Things like that. I want to try and wean myself from my journal so I don’t waste my life trying to know the things I’ve forgotten.”
Harry’s eyes are wet but, once again, he doesn’t let a tear fall. Instead he leans in and presses a hard kiss to Zayn’s lips, scooting on his bum so he’s closer and can make the kiss deeper. “I don’t want to take your journal time away from you,” he protests, though Zayn hears how much he doesn’t mean the words.
“You’re not taking anything away from me. Harry- you’re only giving and giving and giving. I need to approach this life as if we’re partners and I need to give more. Now, I’m not going to say that every day will be perfect. There will be some days I will need or want to read more of my journal, no matter what my note says.”
“So stubborn you won’t even listen to yourself.”
Zayn sticks his tongue out just as Finn crashes into his chest, whispering “my baba” as he grabs onto Zayn’s shirt. Zayn laughs and presses a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “I’m going to start being an even better baba,” he promises his boy. “I’m going to try to pick up every morning where the evening before left off and keep moving forward always,” he tells Harry.
“What do you need me to do to help?”
“Do your best to push me to stick to our schedule, however we list it out. I can be stubborn, I know it well, and I will fight you sometimes. But you’ve done an amazing thing by helping me live my life, Harry. I want to help more now.”
Seeing that he hasn’t completely convinced Harry just yet- knows Harry enough to know that he’ll let Zayn get away with murder come the morning when he doesn’t remember how he feels right now- he pushes again.
“I want to look forward to tomorrows with you. I can’t do that if I’m only living for just one day.”
One fat teardrop clings to Harry’s lower lashes before it gets too heavy and falls to his cheek. “Okay,” he says, leaning in and letting his forehead rest on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn hears him sniffle but doesn’t move, letting his husband take a moment to himself.
It’s the least Zayn can do, he feels. Harry is strong for him every second of every day. It’s Zayn’s turn.
Finn looks up at Zayn with a frown. “Daddy?” he says, glancing to Harry.
Harry sniffs again, raising his head and quickly wiping at the wet on his cheeks. “I’m okay, baby,” he tells Finn, holding out his far arm so Finn can crawl into his lap. “Baba is okay and we’re okay, right?”
Finn nods and smiles, pursing his lips for a kiss that Harry quickly returns.
“I want a new video,” Zayn says, a strike of inspiration hitting him.
“What?”
“I want… I mean, I want what I saw with my dad because it’s good to have someone I know start it off but… the video doesn’t have Finn in it.”
“We thought before- you and I- that it might confuse you more and it would be better if you meet him in person, so to speak.”
“I want to be in it, too.”
Harry smiles at him. “You wanna schedule today for filming a new video?” he teases.
Zayn laughs. “Sounds good.” Something occurs to him. “Harry, what day is it?”
Harry laughs until he cries again but Zayn doesn’t mind as much this time.
~*~
[newspaper clippings from Telegraph & Argus show as the music begins to play]
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older…”
“Hi, Zayn love. You don’t remember me right now but my name is Harry and I’m your husband.”
"...you know its gonna make it that much better when we can say goodnight and stay together..."
“Hi, beta! Your dad and I are so proud of everything you’ve done with your life. You've taken such good care of yourself, your husband and your children and you're going to be okay. Always."
"...after having spent the day together, we'll hold each other close the whole night through..."
"Hi, baba! Jasmin, say hi to baba."
[giggles]
"We help you remember things, baba. I'm six and Jassy is almost four. We love you, baba."
“...happy times together we’ve been spending; I wish that every kiss was never ending…”
"Hey... me. I know this video is a lot to process and you're going to be curious about the past and scared about the future but you shouldn't be. Your life was made for more than just today and you should do everything in your power to remember that."
"let's talk about it... wouldn't it be nice?"
"Yeah... we've talked to Harry about changing the song but he's pretty set on the Beach Boys so we let him have this one. Go say hello to everyone, and be proud of everything we've managed to do."
[end]