Work Text:
Easton is a small village that sits about 30 kilometers outside of London. It's composed of a small market, a pub, and a train station.
It's the end of summer when Zayn arrives, dropped off by the old black train that he'd ridden into town on. 12 hours of stuffy, third class accommodations which included a perpetually angry baby that set the mood for the entire car.
It's hot, Zayn squints against the sun as he takes off his cap and swipes his arm across his forehead, dirty sleeve mopping up the sweat that has collected at his brow. He looks around, for whom, he doesn't know yet. All he knows is that his father had put him on the train and told him there would be a job waiting at the last stop.
“Excuse me,” Zayn jumps, the deep voice of the man walking towards him interrupting his thoughts. “Are you Mr. Malik?” The other man is tall, he wears an all black suit and a black newsboy cap covers his head, although Zayn can see a few stray curls sneaking out from under the cap.
“I am.” He replies, reaching a hand out “I'm sorry, my father didn't tell me who I was meeting.”
“Harry Styles” Harry offers him a small smile as he shakes his hand. “You'll be working at my father’s house, Driskill manor.”
Zayn nods at the information and looks away. He knows his family is struggling with money, he knows that this is going to be the how he contributes, the money he sends home will help feed his sisters, maybe even make some much needed repairs on the tiny house that they call home. “My father didn't tell me much” he says, apologetic.
“That's okay” Harry's smile is easy and he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “You'll be helping around the manor, general labor for room and board, a little bit of money each month”
Zayn nods, this was exactly what he was expecting. “Is it nearby?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.
“It's actually quite a ride,” Harry turned back towards him, his green eyes meeting Zayn’s brown eyes, “I thought we'd get a late lunch and then head out. It's about two hours away. The shop owner,” he points over to the tiny market, “His name is Niall. We had the same teacher, actually she taught us in the back of the shop,” he grins “We were a handful, I imagine.” Shaking his head he looks back at Zayn, “Anyways, his ma will have something for us to eat.”
Zayn nods and readjusts the pack on his back, shifting awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to Harry's rambling.
“Is that all you have?” Harry finally asks, also feeling awkward.
“Yeah, didn't know what all I would need.” They start to walk towards the store, Zayn gripping the straps of his bag tightly in his hands while Harry walks next to him, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“So you’re going to be working on my father’s estate. He spends most of his time in London. We had a full staff before the war, but with things the way they are right now…” Harry trails off. Things have been rough on almost everyone since the war, he didn't need to tell Zayn this. “It's not going to be a full estate now. We have a few horses, three, a few goats and a piglet that I just bought. Some general housekeeping,” he pauses as they reach the door and pulls it open, motioning for Zayn to go ahead of him, “Though we will have a neighbor come in once a week to help clean,” he closes the door gently behind him and takes off his cap, “We fared better than most so.” He doesn't say more, just steps around Zayn and walks further into the store. “Nialler?” He calls out, walking towards the back.
Zayn stays where he is, bag still gripped tightly in his hands, and looks around. The store is small, but it seems to have the essentials. One side of the store seems to be sparsely stocked with animal feed while the other side has a few preserved fruits and vegetables, what looks to be fresh baked bread.
“Zayn?” He's once again pulled from his thoughts as Harry reappears, a smaller blond guy following close behind. “Zayn, this is Niall. Niall, Zayn” Harry gestures to Zayn and steps back. He is grinning again, and it's this time that Zayn notices the dimples.
“Niall Horan,” the other man offers his hand to Zayn, and Zayn quickly accepts it.
“You’re Irish.” Zayn states, surprised before dropping his hand to his side.
“That I am. And your northern.” Niall is grinning ear to ear and Zayn starts to feel more at ease.
“Bradford,” he confirms with a nod.
“Hungry? My mum prepared a right feast when she heard this one was coming in,” he jerks his head towards Harry. “Maybe with some help around the house we’ll start seeing him more often.”
“Hey,” Harry's smile fades “I make as often as I can.”
“You work too much,” Niall motions for them to follow him to the back of the store, which Zayn discovers, connects to a small one bedroom flat. “It's too much for just you.”
“That's why he is here,” Niall had led them to a small table that is already set. “I was just explaining the job to him.”
“You took a job without knowing what you were going to be doing?” Niall frowned, slowly sinking into one of the rickety old chairs.
“My father sent me. He was a short term hire for Harry's dad.” Zayn shrugs the bag off of his shoulders and sets it in the corner of the room before joining Harry and Niall at the table, “I'm old enough now and my family needs the money. There wasn't much in Bradford.”
“There isn't much of anything anywhere.” Niall says matter of factly, reaching over to uncover a meat pie and then a bowl of bread. “Luckily you got this one.”
“Things’ll pick up soon,” Harry grabs a roll, “My father is trying to hire as many people as possible.”
“Yeah but even Des is starting to feel the recession,” Niall tears a piece of bread in hand and shoves it into his mouth, “It's not getting better for a while”
“How are you all fairing?” Harry's voice is soft but he is studying Niall’s face intensely.
“Oh fine.” Niall wipes his hands on his trousers and reaches for the pie. He scopes a heap onto Zayn’s plate before moving to Harry's plate and then his own. “The farm is doing okay, and ma’s been doing this and that to make extra. Store is doing better now that some of the soldiers are making their way home.”
“Preserves still selling well? We should have some vegetables Moira can have for canning in a few months.”
“They do alright,” Niall shoves a fork full of food into his mouth, “She’ll just give anything you bring right back to you, you know? It's supposed to be a long winter.”
“You should come stay with us,” Harry says softly “Have your brother watch the store a while. Not like you have a lot of winter business anyways. Your folks going home for Christmas?”
Niall rolls his eyes, “Don't even know where Greg is,” he pauses to take a drink from the water glass in front of him, “And yeah, folks are headed to Ireland for the holiday.”
“You staying here?” Harry asks around another spoonful.
“That’s the plan. Keep the store open until a few days before Christmas.”
“You should come out to Driskill. We have plenty of room and you shouldn’t spend the holiday alone.”
“I may take you up on that,” Niall pushes his now empty plate towards the center of the table, “It’d be nice to get out there for a while, it’s been too long.”
The chiming of the bell on the front door stops the conversations and Niall smiles apologetically before getting up and heading towards the front.
“You like it?” Harry juts his chin towards the still half full bowl in front of Zayn.
“It’s good, thank you,” Zayn drags his spoon through the pie but doesn’t take another bite, "So I’ll be helping you with the crops?”
“Niall’s luck his mom is such a good cook. Moira is a magician in the kitchen. And it’s a garden,” Harry corrects, looking down at his nearly empty bowl, his cap covering his face “It was never a farm. We have a decent sized garden though. My mother wanted my sister and I to know how to sustain ourselves as much as possible. Every spring and summer we’d get out there and plant and weed and water the plants together. In the fall we’d pick them. We’d usually use half of what we grew fresh and we’d can the rest and use it during winter.” He shrugs. He’s avoiding meeting Zayn’s eyes and they both know it, “We’d still buy our meat off of neighbors, mostly the Horan’s” a small smile appears on his face, memories flooding his mind, “But a lot of our food we grew ourselves.”
“Is that how you managed to do well during the war?” Zayn asks softly. He gently lays his spoon in his bowl and pushed it towards the center of the table.
Harry shrugs and finally looks up, but not at Zayn, he finds a spot on the wall and stares at it instead, “Not really. Nobody was really at the manor too much during the war. My dad was working out of London, my sister went to stay with my Grandparents and I went to university in America.”
“What about your mom?”
Harry shifts in his seat and looks back down at the table. He sets his spoon down “She. Uh. She died. When I was 15. Before the war.”
“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers. He looks down at his hand, which is resting on the table
“It was a long time ago,” Harry replies after a beat. “She was sick for a while. So.” He lets the rest of the words die and he shifts again, clears his throat and takes a sip of water. “But uh. You’ll be helping me get the manor back into decent shape. One of our former butlers went out there pretty often to try and keep it up, but it still needs some love. My friend Louis has been out there helping me get the stables up to par, safer for the animals that way. We’re mostly done. He’s also the one who helped me get the garden going.”
Zayn nods and finally looks up, but neither man makes eye contact with the other.
“We should probably clean up and start getting ready to go,” Harry stands, rather abruptly, and grabs his and Niall’s dishes. Zayn follows suit and stands up, grabbing his own dish and glass. He follows Harry to the small water basin. They quickly wash out their dishes and set them on the drying ledge. When they finish, Harry turns around and leans against the sink, finally he meets Zayn’s eyes and offers him a small smile “So what do you think?”
“Of?” Zayn’s brow furrows and he crosses his arms over his chest.
“The job.”
“Um.” Zayn frowns deeper and he reaches up to remove his cap. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, “I’ve never done much physical labor. I helped my mom out a lot around the house, cleaning, some cooking,” he shrugs, “Don’t know how much help I’ll be in the garden, if I’m being honest.”
Harry shakes his head and his smile grows, “It's easy, you’ll love it.”
~
Zayn glares at Harry’s back over a tomato plant. It’s a week later and he most definitely is not loving this. Blisters are starting to form on his fingers, which are so sore from holding various grading tools that he can hardly even bend them. He is sunburned, which before today he didn’t think was possible, his back hurts from bending over, even his toes feel sore.
“Zayn?” He’s pulled from his thoughts of all of his miserable thoughts. He shakes his head and refocuses on Harry, who has turned around and is now looking at him with a worried expression, “You okay?” He has dirt smudged all of his face, his curls are heavy with sweat, and his skin is bright red with sunburn.
“You have been working out here before I came, right?” Zayn asks, and Harry’s concerned face drops into a frown, “Because you were extremely white when you picked me up and now you look like you’ve been in the sun for a week.” Harry’s white shirt is only buttoned halfway up and Zayn let’s his eyes wander from Harry’s chest. His eyes snap back up and even though Harry didn’t catch him, he blushes.
Harry barks out a laugh, “How do you think all of these plants got here?” He asks, amused.
“I don’t know, man.” Zayn holds up his hands and looks around “Maybe your friend did all the work?”
This makes Harry laugh harder, “Louis?” He asks between chuckles, “Oh my god, wait until you meet Louis. He did not have anything to do with this,” he motions to the plants around them, “I’ll admit that he helped with the animals quit a bit, but a green thumb he is not. And I have been out in the sun more these past few days, the vegetables are getting ripe more often nowadays so I need to be out tending to them more.”
Zayn nods and looks towards the paddock where the horses are grazing. He’s not going to say that it’s completely miserable here. The animals are a lot of work, but he’s enjoying brushing out the horses and feeding the goats. The piglet is adorable and Harry had forgot to mention the three dogs and four cats that he also had. The dogs spend most of their time outside while the cats spend their time ruling the house. One, Zoe, had taken quite a liking to Zayn and had even taken to sleeping in his room at night.
It was much quieter here than Zayn was used too. Gone was the gentle hum of the city that never seemed to cease, no matter how late the night got. He could no longer hear the sounds of a full house, no more sisters arguing or his mother’s soft yet firm voice doling out chores.
Here it was all the sounds of nature, bugs, low neighing horses, Zoe’s soft purring and the shuffling sound of Harry’s feet that Zayn was already growing accustomed to. Harry was easy to be around, his deep voice was soft and his eyes were kind. He was patient with Zayn. He also seemed to know when Zayn needed space and would often head towards the back of the house in the evenings to give Zayn his peace.
The estate was magnificent. Larger and spacious, it still included many amenities that had seemed to disappear with the war. A large library filled with books had already captivated Zayn’s heart and he was spending most of his free time there, feet tucked under him in one of the large, ornate chairs that were placed sporadically around the room. It seems to be one of Harry’s favorite rooms as well. He’d often join Zayn in the evenings, seemed to have a favorite chair, a well worn red chair in the corner of the room, where he’d sprawl out, holding the book precariously above his face, eyes scanning the words quickly.
Zayn’s own bedroom was way more spacious than he was used to. His room in Bradford had been nothing more than a closet, a tiny single bed and a small table that he used as a desk in the corner was about all that it could hold. Whenever he could get his hands on supplies, that’s where he’d spend his time drawing. Supplies were expensive, a luxury that he could very rarely afford though.
He knows that the Styles made it through the war much better than most people, it was fairly evident that they were still very well off. Harry didn’t flaunt it though, and Zayn wonders if Harry even fits in with the higher society of which he is a part. Looking at mud smeared across Harry’s top at the moment, Zayn didn’t think it was very likely that Harry attended very many society parties.
“Zayn!” Harry sounds impatient now, his expression is a cross of annoyance and concern, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine. Why?” He wipes his dirty hands on his trousers and looks at Harry.
“I’ve been talking to you for five minutes now. It’s like you’re not even hearing me.” He sounds frustrated and Zayn offers him a sheepish smile.
“Sorry?” He says, ducking his head playfully, “It's just hot out here.”
Harry sighs and puts his hands on his hips, he looks towards the house “It is hot.” He agrees, “let’s go get something to drink.”
Zayn nods and follows the taller man towards the house
“Did you hear anything that I said?” Harry asks over his shoulder “About London?”
Zayn perks up at that. Harry often spoke of the city, he had been there regularly to visit his father. Zayn had never been though, had only heard the stories that circulated the country. “I didn’t. Sorry. What about it?”
Harry sighs again and holds the back door to the house open for Zayn. “I'll need to go before winter really sets in. We’ll need to get some stuff from the city before the weather turns and we can’t use the roads. The summer vegetable garden will be done here in a few weeks and we don’t have to worry about picking the winter garden until October, so I was thinking the second week of September would be best. It’s a day there and back. I’ll need to write my father to tell him when to expect us.”
“I’ll go with you?” Zayn looks up from the water pump, his eyes wide. He couldn't hide his excitement
“Of course” Harry scoffed, using his shoulder to lightly push Zayn out of the way so that he could fill up his own glass “We’ll need to get you some winter clothes. I also want you to pick up some more bed clothes, you need your own set.” He says matter-of-factly, “It’s not fair that you have to use secondhand linens”
“It’s fine. I don’t need new sheets,” Zayn takes a deep drink of his water, his eyes not leaving Harry’s face, “They are really nice, actually.”
“No.” Harry shakes his head, “We need to get you your own stuff. Those were mine when I was a teenager, they are at least ten years old,” his frown deepens, “My mother would cuff me good if she were here and knew I didn’t get you your own stuff.”
“You really don’t have to,” Zayn argues, setting his cup down. “It’s nicer than what I had at home.”
“I’ve already set aside funds for it," Harry argues back, his gaze steady, “When father and I talked about you coming to work out here, he drew up a budget. Part of that budget included getting you settled in. All of the old staff had their own things, and it won’t be any different with you or anyone else we hire. Which,” he pauses and takes another sip, “Was also something I mentioned outside that you may or may not have heard, but we’ll be getting another new staffer in the spring. Someone to help with the stables.”
“Oh”, Zayn is confused, “I thought we were doing well on our own.”
“We’re doing fine now, Harry confirms with a nod, “But we’ll be getting a few more horses in the spring and we’ll need help. The lad’s name is Liam, and he has actually trained with a vet, which will be very helpful. We’ll probably get a few more pigs too.” He adds, and Zayn suspects that the idea has just come to him. “Anyways, so London in a few weeks?”
“Hell yes!” Zayn’s smile is wide and he joyfully takes another large drink from his glass.
“Good,” his joy is infectious and soon Harry’s smile is just as big as Zayn’s.
~
“We need to clean the cold cellar out tomorrow,” Harry says during dinner that night. Zayn had opened a tin of beans and poured it over bread for dinner and Harry was picking at it. It wasn’t one of his favorite things, but they had started to alternate nights that they were cooking and Zayn hadn’t complained the night before when Harry had cooked a duck soup out of the duck meat that their neighbor had brought by. “Last time I was down there I noticed that some of the shelves that we keep the canned food on had fallen. We’ll also need to make sure it’s ready to store meat in,” The storage is insulated, able to keep meat for a longer period of time. Zayn had already asked Harry why he didn’t have a more modern way of keeping the food. Harry had looked at Zayn with a deadpan expression and asked, in a monotone voice, why Zayn thought they needed to ruin a good thing. “The cellar has gotten us through many a winter, Zayn,” he said in a low, even voice, “And it will get us through many more.”
Zayn didn’t understand, but he didn’t bring it up again.
“Does it need cleaned out?” Zayn asks. Unlike Harry, who is already on his second plate, famished from the long day of work.
“No.” Harry shakes his head, “The staff actually cleaned it out before they left for good.”
“Do you miss them?” Zayn asks, noticing the sadness in Harry’s voice, his hand halfway between his plate and his mouth.
“Very much, sometimes,” Harry confuses, staring at a spot on the table, “I grew up with them,” He offers a one armed shrug, “Most of the people who came here stayed, it was rare that anyone left,” his mouth curls up in a half smile, but he seems to be miles away, “Simon, he was the head butler, he was here since I can remember. Geoff was lead on stables, he’s actually Liam’s father,” Harry looks up at Zayn, “Liam is the one who’ll be coming in spring to help us. But Geoff was hired on when I was still a babe. We were all like a family. My mom was good at bringing people together,” his look is far off again.
“You were close to you mother," Zayn states. Harry brings her up casually, but it’s obviously that her death still impacts him greatly.
“Very,” Harry looks at him, he’s smiling, but it’s almost a sad smile, “Too close, if you ask my father. He and I have never been very close. He had these expectations of me.” He pauses, shakes his head, “I was going to take over the family business. I was going to make him proud.” Another pause, “But I was never on the same page. I was too into things that weren't as becoming of a boy as they should’ve been.” He clears his throat, “According to him anyways. I loved to play piano when I was younger. My mother taught me.” He glances over his shoulder, towards the sunroom where a large black piano sits. Zayn had noticed it, but hadn’t given it much thought. “I played all of the time. We’d sing, my mum and I. And he’d walk by and shake his head. Tell me I needed to go study my arithmetic. By the time I was eight, he was spending most of of his time in London.”
“Probably wasn’t because of you,” Zayn interjects.
“Not completely,” Harry agrees. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a major factor. They started arguing more, he said my mother coddled me too much, that she needed to spend more time with Gemma, and not so much time with me. She spent plenty of time with Gemma. Ironically she was the one off in the corner reading Descartes.” They both chuckle at that.
“And then he left?” Zayn asks.
“And then he left,” Harry confirms with a nod, “He’d come home once or twice a year but it was my mom who was raising me by then. He wanted me to go to boarding school, or for us to move to London so I could attend school there. But my mom,” he looks around the dining room, “This was originally just supposed to be a summer house. We were supposed to live in London, but when my mom was pregnant with me, she decided she wanted us to be raised out here. She didn’t think London was a good place to raise kids. She came from a middle class farming family.” He shrugs and takes a sip of the wine in front of him, “She wanted us raised up the same way.”
“But your father didn’t agree?”
“Nope.” Harry’s laugh is bitter this time, “He went to a school called Monte Claire and thought was only right that his son go there as well. My mother though, she was the most headstrong person ever. I swear it.” Zayn laughs at that.
“Seriously!” When Harry looks up at him, he is smiling, “What woman would refuse to let her husband send his son to school and get away with it? She wanted to teach us here. It basically cost their marriage, in a way, but she told me that she didn't want me to be exposed to the aristocracy. Said I’d get enough of it when I was older, but that she wanted me to remain...” he pauses and runs his hand down his face, “She wanted me to not be afraid to be me for as long as possible. Said my soul was too good.”
"She didn’t want you to be like him,” Zayn supplies, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.
“He’s not a bad guy. But I don’t fit in with that lifestyle,” Harry confirms what Zayn had concluded over the week that he’d known Harry, “I can’t pretend that I’m above everyone else in this world and laugh like everything is perfect. I'm aware that I don’t even know the half of it, that I am privileged as hell, but I’ll be damned if I’ll look down my nose at anyone.”
Zayn remains silent, studies Harry, takes in the too long hair and the large green eyes, the mustache that Harry is trying to hard to grow. He has the passing thought that Harry is unconventionally handsome.
Harry shrugs and their eyes meet, “My mom, she was the best person in the world. She didn’t fit in with their circles either, but she never let their judgement get her down. She kept being the best person in the world. She was a good, kind person. She had the best heart.”
“I think,” Zayn looks towards the fireplace, stares the flames for a few seconds before he continues, “I think that you are a lot like her. A lot like her,” he repeats. Zayn doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see Harry’s smile. Or his blush.
~
“Tell me about Gemma,” Zayn says. It is mid-September and they are on their way to London. Harry has hired a driver and they are both sitting in the back of the carriage for the ride. The swaying of the carriage is uncomfortable and the path is bumpy and rough.
“How about you tell me about your family?” Harry’s smile is playful. He doesn’t look at Zayn full on, instead looks at him from the corner of his eye.
“Not much to tell,” Zayn looks out his window at the scenery passing by, “My relationship with my father is a lot like you with yours. I was never the good Muslim boy that he wanted me to be. Too into drawing and helping the girls work. He wanted me out helping his crew with construction but that was never something I was good at.”
“You draw?” Harry sits up and looks at Zayn full on, “Why don’t I know this?”
“Not really,” Zayn scoffs “I like to play around. But it’s childish.” He won’t look at Harry, “It's not something I’m good at,” he continues, “Just something I’d do to pass any free time I had. Which wasn’t very often,” he adds quickly.
“Tell me about your mom,” Harry says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on Zayn’s knew before quickly removing it. Zayn smiles at the mention of her, “Trisha?”
“Yeah,” Zayn nods, he is smiling widely now, “Trisha. She’s amazing. School wasn’t much of a thing where I’m from,” he turns to face Harry, finally looking at him, “I had a few classes, but nothing much. There isn’t much of a need for it, where I’m from,” he shrugs, “My family has labor jobs, working in mines or the labor side of construction. You don’t need to know how to read and write for that. But my mom instead I learn how to read. She taught me to write. And worst of all,” he leans closer to Harry and drops his voice so that he is whispering, “She taught me to cook and clean up after myself.”
Harry cackles at that, a loud barking sound, he places his hand over his stomach and bends over, shoulders shaking and laughs. Zayn smirks and sits back up before even he can’t stop himself from laughing along.
“Boys cooking!” Harry says once he gets himself under control “The atrocity!”
“Why would I need to be taught such a wasteful thing?” Zayn’s voice is deep as he mocks his father’s voice “I’m a man, my wife will cook for me! I will never need such a useless skill!”
“That’s what the help is for!” Harry adds, shaking his finger “He needs to spend his time on his studies!”
“He needs to be out working! Nothing in life is free!”
“You need to stop encouraging him! This isn't the way normal boys act!” They both sober up as they remember the harsher words their fathers had said. Zayn turns back around to look out his window. “Makes it worse that I haven’t shown an interest in getting married.”
“Were you ever meant to be married?” Zayn glances at him.
“I’ve been introduced to a few ladies at some of his formals. I’m sure I’ll be introduced to at least one this trip,” Harry shrugs and looks out his window.
“Has there ever been anyone that you’ve thought that maybe…” Zayn trails off, doesn’t finish the sentence.
“I’ve been in love once,” Harry smiles and bites him bottom lip, “When I first came back from America. I was living in a flat in London with my sister and her husband, before they moved away. I was actually working for my father and had met someone. We were together for two years.”
“What happened?” Zayn’s voice is low, like they are telling secrets they don’t want others to overhear.
“It never would’ve worked,” Harry shakes his head and his smile fades, “It didn’t end poorly, we’re still friends.”
“That’s good” Zayn is studying him closely, his brown eyes serious. “Had you introduced her to your family?”
“Only my sister,” Harry looks up at Zayn, “How about you?”
“Never been in love,” Zayn purses his lips together and shakes his head.
“Your family didn’t have any arrangements?”
“Sort of. Her family was offered a better deal a few years before we were to be married though. I imagine that sooner rather than later another arraignment will be made.”
“Why’d your father send you here then?”
Zayn sighs deep and looks towards the front of the carriage, “I think that he’s hoping that this will make me more desirable. Maybe if I work I can be more of the man that everyone expects of me and a family will be more willing to accept a proposal.”
Harry stays quiet, unsure of what to say.
“It’s all rather difficult.” Zayn says finally, and they let the conversation die.
~
“This is my friend Nick,” Harry is giggly and drunk. His arm is slung over the shoulders of a taller man. They are at a pub in London, it's their last night in town before heading back to Driskill. The carriage is already loaded for the trip the next morning.
“Hello,” Nick’s smile is large and friendly and he offers Zayn a wave. “Zayn? Right? This one won't shut up about you. Almost making me jealous.”
“Jealous?” Zayn looks between the two men, confused.
“I'm not very good at sharing our boy,” Nick grins as he reaches up to ruffle Harry's hair. Harry ducks out from under him with a chuckle.
“Stoooop,” he whines reaching up to fix his hair.
“So. Zayn.” Nick’s gaze turns more serious, “Homesick yet?”
“Sort of,” Zayn shifts under Nick’s gaze, reaching up to rub at his arm, “Harry's a good host though, he's making it easier.”
“He does that. He's a good caretaker,” Nick looks back over at Harry, his smile slowly reappearing. Harry blushes and smiles back at Nick, allowing Nick pull him back towards his body, tucking Harry under one of his arms.
“I think I'm going to head back to your father’s,” Zayn says after a beat, “I'm tired and we've got to get up early.”
“Oh,” Harry frowns and looks back at Zayn, “Alright.”
“You can't leave yet,” Nick interjects, “You've just gotten here.”
“You can stay,” Zayn shrugs easily and puts his hands in his pockets, “I can get back on my own.”
“No…” Harry looks up at Nick, torn between staying or leaving.
“He'll be fine, love,” Nick shrugs nonchalantly, “He's a big boy.”
“It'll be fine,” Zayn agrees, “I'll be fine.”
“You sure?” Harry asks one more time, just to be sure.
“Yes. I'll be fine,” Zayn insists.
“I'll be back soon,” Harry promises, reaching out to pull Zayn into a quick hug.
“It's fine,” Zayn repeats, pasting on a smile.
“Zayn, it was nice to meet you. I imagine I'll be seeing more of you soon,” Nick offers his hand and Zayn quickly accepts it, shaking before letting go.
“Nice meeting you too,” Zayn says but it's lost because Nick has already turned around and is leading Harry towards a table in the back of the bar.
~
“How did you meet Nick?” It's something that's been bothering Zayn since they got back three weeks ago. Harry had stumbled into his father's house in the wee hours of the next morning smelling strongly of alcohol. He'd fallen face first into his bed and slept for hours. They left five hours later than they had planned and Harry was too hungover for them to really discuss it.
“We met through mutual friends,” Harry replies, looking up from the book he is reading.
“He's older than you?”
“Ten years,” Harry confirms, marking his place in the book with his finger.
“You have a lot in common?”
“Yeah,” Harry is looking at Zayn inquisitively, “We have quite a lot in common.”
“Like what?”
“What's with all the questions?” Harry asks, almost defensively.
“Just curious,” Zayn reaches up and scratches the back of his neck and looks away from Harry.
“Just a lot,” Harry shrugs, “We have a lot mutual friends. The group was pretty tight knit when we were all in London.”
“Why is he spending time with people so much younger?”
“Does it matter?” Harry is definitely defensive now and he moves to set the book on the table closest to him, “Are all of your friends your age?”
“Basically,” Zayn snaps and looks back up at Harry, challengingly, “Isn't he married?”
“No,” Harry leans forward and glares at Zayn, “Just like you and I, he isn't married.”
“But he's older than us.”
“Eight years older than you,” Harry argues, “That's not much.”
“But I'm not hanging out with 19 year olds.”
“What the hell Zayn?” Harry snaps, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, “What the hell is your obsession with this? Why don't you like him?”
“I didn't not like him, I don't even know him,” Zayn also stands up, but he turns his back to Harry and walks towards the fireplace. They've had to use it more and more the past few weeks as the temperature started its slow decline into freezing.
“That's right. You don't know him.” Harry's voice is hard, angry. “He's one of my best friends. He's always been there for me, ever since we met. He'd drop everything to come to me if I needed him. I don't understand where you're coming from.”
Zayn shakes his head but doesn't respond. Harry glares at his back for a few more seconds before he storms out of the room leaving Zayn in the silence.
~
“Here,” Zayn jumps at the sound of Harry's voice. He's been sitting in the front living room for hours, staring out the window as the snow falls at a steady pace outside. The trees have long gone dormant and the world is a monotone mix of white and gray. The silence of winter is deafening.
He looks up at Harry, who is holding out a cup of tea for him. He takes it, gently cradling it in his hands. Harry sits next to him on the sofa, tucking his legs up under him, his cold, bare feet edging up under Zayn's thigh. “Thanks,” Zayn offers him a warm smile before turning to look back out the window. They hadn't spoken about the fight again, and Harry had treated him to two days of cold shoulders before he started warming up to Zayn again. A few days later, things were back to normal as the two men worked hard gathering the remaining fruit and vegetables in the property.
Zayn had learns to can food and cut firewood and insure that the fireplaces are ready for fires. Harry teaches him how to check the windows and doors for drafts so that they can try and ward off as much of the cold as possible. They prepare the barn, making sure the hey will stay dry and that there is enough of it to keep the animals warm. Towards the end of November when the snow had started, they had quickly become housebound, relying on books and old records and Harry's occasional piano playing to pass time. He'd even attempted to give Zayn piano lessons but both had quickly given up.
“Different than winters is Bradford?” Harry asks.
“Much.” Zayn doesn’t need to say much more.
“Figured we’d go cut down a tree tomorrow, if the weather allows it. Christmas is next week.”
“Never really celebrated it,” Zayn shrugs, taking a sip of tea.
“What?” Harry turns to him, surprised.
“Muslim,” Zayn shrugs again and turns to look at Harry.
“Oh.” He opens his mouth and then closes it. He takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts, “Do you celebrate anything?”
“We'd exchange a few gifts. My mother converted to Islam when she married my father, and she wanted to keep some of her traditions. But it wasn't really a celebration.”
“Well,” Harry nods, “I'll just wait until we pick up Niall then. He can help with the tree and to get the decorations from the attic.”
“I can still help. Just won't celebrate the holiday,” Zayn says, watching as Isabella, the youngest of the cats comes into the room. She circles the room, walks up to Harry, and then over to Zayn, before going back Harry and then jumping up onto the couch and laying in Harry’s legs. She starts purring immediately and promptly falls asleep. Harry smiles and reaches down to pet her.
“We don't do much celebrating either,” Harry says, “Last year, it was Niall and Louis and I. We just cooked a big dinner and exchanged a few gifts. Drank a lot of eggnog and fell asleep in the living room.”
“Think I can do that,” Zayn smiles, “Probably won't help you decorate but I can help bring the stuff down. Is Louis coming?”
“Probably not, he got married this year and they are expecting a baby any day now. So tomorrow, tree and decorations.”
“Tree and decorations,” Zayn confirms with a nod.
~
The house is gorgeous when Harry and Niall get done with it. White and red candles are scattered throughout the house, the banister is wrapped in garland, a large tree is sitting in front of the large picture window in the living room, decorations on almost every branch. Niall and Harry can't hide their excitement and both been running around the house making sure everything was perfect leading up to Christmas dinner.
There aren't many gifts, a set of wood bookends that Zayn had a neighbor make for Harry. Niall had insisted on no gifts, saying that getting to day with them was enough, but Harry still present him with a new guitar ‘from both of them.’ Zayn, who didn't even know Niall played, thought that Niall was going to cry. They had feasted on duck and sweet potatoes and canned green beans and glazed carrots.
It's after Niall goes to bed, when Zayn is setting on the sofa staring at the flickering fire, a cup of spiked coffee in hand, when Harry enters the room, package in hand and sits down next to Zayn.
“Now I know you said no gifts and that this isn't your holiday or your religion and I respect that. I really do. But I couldn't not get you something. Just as a friend. As someone I care about, because this is one of the ways that I show people I care about them. So I hope you’re not offended but here you go.”
“Harry, I got you something,” Zayn gently sets his cup to the side and takes the package from the package from Harry. “Just don't make this a habit.”
“I won't,” Harry chuckles and watches as Zayn gently lifts the wrapping off of the package
“Whoa. Harry.” Zayn gently lifts the a stack of drawing paper out of the box and picks up a tube of paint, “This is too much.”
“It's not,” Harry shakes his head, “I didn't know your medium so there's some oils in there and some charcoal”
“This is amazing.” He picks up the wrapped charcoal and examines the packaging, “It's too much. Where'd you even get it?”
“One of my friends in London works at a store that carries art supplies, they were able to get me a good deal and have it shipped over.”
“This is too much,” he repeats, carefully setting everything back in the box, “Thank you so much.”
“We all have our things,” Harry shrugs, smiling at Zayn “It’ll help pass the time and if it makes you happy…” he trails off.
“It makes me very happy,” Zayn carefully sets the box aside and turns to Harry, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” they stare at each other a beat too long, and then Harry leans in quickly and presses a soft kiss against Zayn’s mouth. A few moments of silence go by, their eyes locked, and when Harry moves back, its slowly. He bites his bottom lip and studies Zayn’s face for a few more seconds before standing up. “Goodnight Zayn,” he says softly before turning to walk out of the room.
~
Neither man brings up the kiss, they quickly fall back into their daily routines of bundling up in the mornings to run out in the snow and check the animals and then coming back in to warm up and cook breakfast. Zayn draws more, although he rarely shows Harry what he is working on.
Zayn finally meets Louis on New Year's Eve, both men had bundled up that morning and made the thirty minute ride over to Louis’, overnight bags stowed under the carriage. It had been fun, albeit quiet due to Louis’ newborn son. Louis was everything that Harry had described, mercilessly teasing and unending sarcasm. He brought out something in Zayn that surprised both Zayn and Harry. Harry cooed nonstop at baby Freddy and flirted shamelessly with Louis’ wife, who batted him away every time with rolled eyes and a ‘Just stop Harry!’
Zayn's birthday was quiet, although Niall did come bearing a cake his mother had baked and more art supplies from London. Everyone was getting cabin fever and wished the seemingly constant fall of snow would just stop, please and thank you.
It was a few days after January, during a quiet dinner of stew that Harry broached the topic of them going back to London, “Nick wants me to come out for my birthday,” he explains around bites of his cornbread.
Zayn rolls his eyes at the name and mops up his stew with his bread, “Sounds good,” he mumbles, mouth full.
“We’ll stay with him this time,” Harry continues, “You two can spend more time together. I’d like it if you two could get on.” He looks up at Zayn expectantly.
“When will we leave?” Zayn asks, avoiding Harry’s eyes.
“On the 31st. We’ll stay until the 3rd.”
“Alright,” Zayn picks up his wine glass and drains what is left before standing up and grabbing his and Harry’s dishes and walking over to the basin to wash them. Harry sighs loudly behind him, but it’s a few more seconds before he hears Harry’s chair scrape against the floor and Harry is standing beside him with the remaining dinner dishes, ready to help.
~
It takes Nick and his roommate Toby disappearing into the same room the first night of their stay for everything to click into place for Zayn. Harry had already disappeared into the room that he and Zayn were sharing and left Zayn sitting awkwardly on the sofa across from Nick and Toby when Nick had stood up, stretched and smiled down at Toby “Guess we'll turn in too, huh?" He’d asked. Toby stood, they both bid Zayn a goodnight and also disappeared.
At first, Zayn hadn’t really thought anything of it, but after a few minutes of silence, it hit him. He stood and quickly made his way back to their tiny room. Harry is standing shirtless, staring down at the shirt in his hands. He looks up when Zayn enters the room and smiles, dimples out in full force. The room is low light, and his shadow is cast dramatically against the wall.
“Dinner went well, didn’t it?” he asks, moving to put the shirt on “You and Nick got on better.”
“You and Nick,” Zayn’s voice catches and he turns to shut the door, clearing his throat he turns back around, “Nick was the person you were in love with.”
The smile drops from Harry’s face and he actually looks scared.
“You and Nick dated?” Zayn continues.
“Um...” Harry hesitates, self-consciously pulling at the hem of his shirt “I thought you...I thought you’d already figured that out.”
“How could I have possibly known?” Zayn hisses.
“Is this going to be a problem?” Harry looks past Zayn, at the door that Zayn had just closed “I thought you figured it out when we were here in September. I mean…I basically spent the night here.”
“You came back to your father’s house that night!” Zayn argues
“At dawn,” Harry's smile is confused and he looks worried. He shifts, taking a step back, putting more space between him and Zayn. “Zayn, I thought...” Harry doesn’t finish his sentence, just stares at Zayn helplessly.
Zayn looks out of the tiny window above their bed, watches the snow fall slowly outside.
“I thought you had realized…” Harry cuts himself off again
“That you are gay?” Zayn finishes for him, still staring outside.
“I kissed you,” Harry whispered. He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you knew already.”
“That you are gay,” This time it’s a statement.
“Look, is this a problem?” Harry’s voice is firm this time, “I didn’t mean to overstep on anything. I thought..I thought that we felt the same way and that’s why I kissed you.”
“Does your father know? You could get in trouble for this! How many people know?”
“No, my father does not know,” Harry snaps, “Nick, a few of our friends, Niall, Louis and my sister know. And now you. My mother knew.” He whispers the last sentence.
“When you say that you thought that we feel the same way…”
“I didn’t know if you were gay or not.”
“But you thought that if I were gay?”
Harry shrugs and looks away, stares at the ugly painting, “What are you trying to get me to say Zayn?”
“How exactly do you feel?” Zayn takes on step, and then another, slowly until he is standing in front of Harry.
Harry bites at his bottom lip and hugs himself tighter, his eyes shine with unshed tears and he is shaking slightly, “Like I’m in love again,” he whispers, finally.
Zayn stares at him, studying him closely, and watches as a tear finally falls and slowly makes its way down Harry’s cheek.
Harry reaches up and harshly wipes the tear away before turning back to Zayn, “And now I’m scared because there are countless ways that you can hurt me.”
“Don’t be scared,” Zayn reaches up to wipe away another tear that has fallen with the cuff of his sleeve, “Please never, ever be afraid of me.” He tips his head back and slowly closes the gap between them, placing a firm kiss against Harry's mouth. “Please don’t be scared of me,” he whispers as he pulls back.
Harry licks his lips and wipes at his eyes again, taking a step back from Zayn.
“This is new to me,” Zayn says finally “And you’ll have to be patient with me. I’ve never been in love before,” The smile on Harry’s face is instant and he lets out the breath he’d been holding in.
“So you do love me,” he says, smile growing even more.
“Shut up.” Zayn rolls his eyes and once again closes the gap between them, leaning up to kiss Harry again. They jump apart, both startled as the grandfather clock in Nick’s living room chimes midnight.” Oh.” Zayn reaches out and pulls Harry down into another kiss, “Happy Birthday,” he whispers against Harry’s lips one they pull apart.
“Thanks,” Harry sighs happily, “I think that this may be a good year.”
“I think so too,” Zayn agrees.