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‘I haven’t seen him in years. To be honest, I have no reason to.’: claims ZAYN about his ex-bandmate Harry Styles, further trying to prove that he and Harry ‘never really spoke’ while they were both still 1Direction stars.
By Kate Garter for Mail Online
PUBLISHED: 14:15 GMT, 5 December 2017 | UPDATED: 14:44 GMT, 5 December 2017
It has been over two years since Zayn Malik (24) left the world’s biggest boy band in a flurry of crying fan girls and bitter bandmates. While the ‘PillowTalk’ singer usually avoids 1D-related questions, he can never really escape them.
In a recent interview with Billboard, the singer revealed not only the plans for his (very anticipated) second LP, but also gave us an insight on his relationship with his former ‘brothers’. The insight was that there are no relationships! Zayn is apparently too cool for his ex-bandmates and doesn’t talk to them anymore.
The interviewer pushed and questioned Zayn about Harry (23) specifically, due to a recent radio interview Harry did with his old friend and BBC Radio 1 star Nick Grimshaw. In said interview, Grimshaw started teasing Harry about ‘shenanigans’ from his 1D days, asking him to tell a wild story. And what did Harry do?
He complied and proceeded to recount a story about how he and Zayn ran away from their security in Australia and spent the whole night partying. It included dancing on tables and drinking champagne straight from the bottle. Pretty regular stuff for stars like them, isn’t it?
Well, it seemed like the story was finished until Grimshaw said: “Harold, why don’t you tell our lovely listeners about the best part? The hotel room part?” to which Harry spit out a quick “shut up, I regret I ever told you anything about us.” After that, the interview ended pretty quickly.
Could there be more to this unacknowledged beef between the two young popstars? Is Zayn trying to feed us lies and deny his past friend(relation?)ship with Harry Styles? Did Nick Grimshaw start a sudden rise in the number of ‘Zarry’ shippers?
We may never know what happened for sure, but be sure to stay with us by subscribing to our newsletter HERE to not miss any new discoveries!
Their first face-to-face encounter after two years, eleven months and one day is exactly like their relationship used to be. Unexpected, undiscussed before it happened and a total whirlwind of emotions. It was fitting, for them to meet like that. They saw it coming but not really. It was creeping up on them and when some concern arose, the moment that would eventually change their lives was perfectly situated in a blind spot, concealing itself and blocking them from avoiding it once again.
The moment Harry saw Zayn at the pre-Grammy party, Harry proclaimed himself a dumbass. A real fucking stupid piece of shit. Of course, it was such a Harry thing to do, go to an industry party, get drunk off his ass with Jeff and some old men whose names he barely even remembers and then fucking run into Zayn, who he hasn’t seen in almost three years. And of-fucking-course, Zayn was mostly sober, he looked and smelled like a fucking dream and that was it really. Harry was done. He had no fighting chance because once Zayn laid his eyes on Harry again, staring at him with this wide-eyed Bambi look of his, Harry was back at the exact same place he was almost three years ago. Damn all that time he tried to get over Zayn. Fuck the angsty album that Harry hoped, fucking prayed would finally get Zayn out of his system, out of his heart. Screw it all because Harry was still in love with him.
“Harry? Are you alright?” Oh. Yes. Zayn’s standing in front of him. Harry should say something. Talking. Communicating. Why does using his jaw and tongue sound so exhausting?
“Y-yeah. ‘m fine. Hi.” That’s good, right? A simple greeting, like simple old friends with simple non-romantic past. Harry’s doing great, so fucking great he might as well forget how his breath is getting caught in his throat or how the liquid in his champagne glass is sloshing around ever so slightly because his right hand is shaking as if it were -50°C.
“Hey,” Zayn replies and continues to eye Harry sceptically. Harry’s convinced his heart is beating along with the movement of Zayn’s eyes, which can’t possibly be healthy. But every single little shift, how Zayn’s gaze travels from Harry’s eyes to his hair and all over his face, every single one makes Harry feel like he’s drowning.
“You look a bit pale, are you sure you’re okay?” Harry almost scoffs. So Zayn’s concerned about him now? Interesting.
“I’m just drunk, you know me. Can handle my alcohol every other weekend but only if the Moon’s in the right position. Which is almost never, according to you.”
“O-kay, I’m gonna go now.” Zayn tries to make an exit, but Harry uses the little sober part of his brain to grab his arm.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I miss you, arsehole. Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.”
“Hang out?”
“Yeah. What, you think I didn’t know you met up with… pretty much everyone but me? Shit. I guess you really hate me, huh?” Harry’s grip on Zayn’s forearm must be really uncomfortable by now but Zayn barely even blinks. If the alcohol wasn’t restricting Harry from perceiving and living out this situation as he should, he’d even enjoy touching Zayn again after so long. Perhaps he wouldn’t. It’s still an option. Maybe it would make him want to crawl in bed and don’t leave for about two years. Guess he’ll never know now.
“I don’t hate you, Harry. I never did.” Harry chuckles. If only that was true.
“Hm. Let’s see. ‘Me and Harry never really spoke’, yeah? That’s news for me. I don’t remember us like that. Oh wait, I guess we were too busy fucking to talk, yeah? And what happened to ‘finding me when the time is right’, hm? For you the time is never right, is it?” Harry laughs and then hiccups. Fuck, he’s so drunk. He’s getting pretty damn dizzy. Fuck. Nevertheless, Harry loves the shocked look on Zayn’s face. Actually, Harry loves all of him, despite him talking shit and now gaping at him as if Harry said there’s a demon in the man’s bathroom.
“Harry, shut up. Someone could hear you.”
“Oh, someone could hear me? You don’t say, love. Poor you, what would people say if they knew you don’t like fucking just nice blonde girls, hm? That you loved me more than you could ever love any of them? If they knew that you broke my fucking heart because you were a coward, because you didn’t want to fight for us. Because you didn’t believe we could make it in the end. I love- “Harry cuts himself off and throws up in a potted plant.
He feels a gentle hand on his back, soothing him and whispering ‘it’ll be alright, you’re gonna be fine’. Harry feels like the lovely voice and hand belong to Zayn, but that must be just his imagination, hallucinating his deepest desires before Harry passes out right there in the middle of the hallway.
Harry wakes up a few hours later, the remnants of memories of Zayn’s silky voice grazing the edges of his mind. Maybe they were from a dream, maybe they were real. It doesn’t matter since Zayn isn’t the one sitting next to Harry in the back of the car, playing on his phone; it’s Jeff.
I fucked up. That’s all Harry can think about.
After almost three years of not seeing each other, this is the best they can do? Bicker in a dark hallway during a party neither of them really wanted to go, ambushed by fate or whatever finally getting tired of their antics. They didn’t talk properly despite it being long overdue, didn’t make any promises to catch up. The cherry on top was how this exchange ended – with Harry almost confessing his love in public and then promptly throwing up into a potted plant like a fucking sixteen-year-old at his first party.
Harry feels sick. Not in the way he felt earlier this evening but sick of his life, sick of feeling empty, sick of eternally missing someone. There’s a great gaping hole inside his chest with his heart hanging out of it. The skin around it is torn and bloody, has been for nearly three years. He just wants to fix it. Wants to be able to love freely again. Wants to go online without his breath getting caught and his pulse racing when he sees Zayn’s name or even worse, his face. Harry wants to get over Zayn. Finally leave him in the past, un-love him and let his heart be free. It may be impossible, but he has to at least try.
He saw it tonight. Saw it so clearly it actually hurt his eyes. Harry might’ve been hammered but not even his clouded mind could conceal how Zayn looked at him – like he was nothing. A stranger that somehow knows Zayn. An old friend that Zayn isn’t even sure what his name is. A person Zayn never thinks off anymore. If Harry were younger, more naïve, more hopeful, he might have tried to make himself believe that Zayn still loved him too. That Zayn’s wide-eyed look and shaky breaths indicated that he was just as shaken and fucking relieved to see Harry as Harry was him. It wouldn’t be the truth, though and Harry knows it now.
Zayn doesn’t love him. A fact, a truth, a dagger. Their lives aren’t a romantic comedy where they were just waiting for a chance meeting like this to ignite the fire of their love that’s been smouldering for years. Reality is harsh, cold and never works in your favour. Harry needs to accept it, the sooner the better.
First step of getting over Zayn is apologizing for the debacle that was tonight. A yoga instructor of Harry’s once said that he can’t move on if he’s got a hundred pounds of baggage on his back and that he should leave all the negative things in the past. And that is exactly what Harry’s going to do – cleanse his life out of everything Zayn-love related. At the end of this, Zayn will be just a past lover, someone that broke Harry’s heart and Harry won’t have to look back at some of his best years with anguish. It will be all over and Harry will be ready to love again.
+
Harry’s chill. Relaxed, cool, serene even. He’s writing an email, not detonating a bomb, why should he be nervous? Just sending an email to an old friend apologizing for his inadequate behaviour. Nothing too weird, right?
Except it is. It’s too fucking strange because Harry can’t think, can’t breathe or blink without his mind going back to a certain April day two years ago when he was doing a very similar thing. Typing out an email to an old friend that also happens to be the possible love of his life. He won’t know that though, because Harry is moving on.
‘Hello,
I’m really sorry about the way I behaved last night. My alcohol consumption got out of hand and my blabbering was a part of the result. I apologize for talking about stupid things from our past. It’s all behind us now. Again, I’m really sorry.
Would you like to have a drink the next time we see each other? I assume you’re going to the Grammys in two days. We should catch up. After all, we’re friends and we haven’t properly spoken in ages.
All the love, H.’
It’s short, straight to the point and polite. Perfect. Harry hits send and his finger doesn’t hover over the key for more than a second. He already feels lighter. So, this is what moving on feels like.
The last email Harry sent two years ago Zayn was a polar opposite of this one. It was way too long, maybe even five hundred words long for all he knows. The email had no point, really. Well, perhaps it did if you can count Harry’s heartache wanting to find answers as a point. And that letter was definitely not polite considering Harry’s favourite adjective seemed to be ‘fucking’. Maybe he can still find it somewhere in his inbox. Harry doesn’t send many emails from this account.
He clicks on the ‘Sent’ compartment. Jeff, his mum, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, ten times Jeff, his mum, his cousin and there it is. Sent to [email protected], subject ‘read this you dick’. Harry takes a deep breath before he opens the email. This is a good thing. I’m moving on and this will just further convince me that I’m going the best thing. Harry knows he needs to do this. After all, facing your fears is the only way to truly get over them. This is him doing just that.
‘Hey dipshit,
why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why is your beautiful fucking face always on my mind when you don’t give a single shit about me? It’s four in the fucking morning and here I am, writing you a fucking email because I have no other way of contacting you since I deleted your number after you left me. You fucking left me and you’re fucking happy when I’m miserable as fuck. I know you never loved me but I still miss you so fucking much.
I have so much to tell you Z. Like how my bed is cold without you because you were always so fucking warm I didn’t even need an extra blanket in the winter. Or how you were the first person I wanted to call when I got the role in Dunkirk because I know how much you love Nolan’s movies and how we watched The Dark Knight god knows how many times even though I don’t even like superheroes. And you didn’t mind that I always fell asleep twenty minutes in, as long as I was there with you. You were the first fucking person. Not my mum, not Gemma, not Jeff. You. I just fucking miss you. I miss basic fucking things like having breakfast together or doing grocery shopping in that 24-7 grocery store near my house at one am. You were a part of me and now I feel like I’ve been ripped apart.
It hurts me to think that all of it was fake. But it had to be, didn’t it? If you really loved me you wouldn’t leave like that, would you? I don’t hate you for leaving the band. Fuck, I wanted to leave too so I’d be the last one to judge. But you left ME. And you never even gave me a proper explanation. Feel free to do it now because you broke my heart and I want to know why. So, please tell me. I can’t keep guessing and trying to assume something. I KNOW you had to leave, and even maybe leave me for a while, but you never came back. Why did you leave me when I loved you with everything I had?
We ended with a fucking phone call that shattered me. One stupid phone call where you said you wanted to give it another shot with someone you claimed you didn’t love. Okay, I’m talking shit in this email. You kinda gave me an explanation. But why, why, why didn’t you call me after you left her? I was still hopelessly waiting for my phone to ring and I know I didn’t make it easy by changing my number but you talked to Liam, didn’t you? I told him to give you my new number if you ever mentioned me. My heart jumped every time my phone rang but it was never you. Eventually, I had to give up or it would drive me insane.
I haven’t seen you in over a year and it’s driving me crazy. You walking around with Gigi with a big ass smile on your face is also driving me fucking mad. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to be happy, but why do I have to be heartbroken while you can just fucking move on like nothing happened? Did I mean nothing to you?
It’s really fucking late and here I am, drunk on wine, crying and writing you this email. If you’re wondering how is the grammar so good, send your thanks to autocorrect. This probably makes zero sense but I just had to at least try to let you know how I feel. Because I still love you and I know we’re not a lost cause. Just say it and I’m yours in a heartbeat. I know I sound desperate as fuck but it’s true.
All the love, H. xxx’
Harry slaps his forehead three times after he finishes reading the old email. Why on earth did he even think Zayn would want him after everything that happened? Zayn left him, not the other way around. Harry made such a fool out of himself. He acted like a thirteen-year-old breaking up with his first boyfriend and wanting him back. No wonder Zayn never answered. He probably laughed over it, maybe even showed Gigi and said ‘Look at this stupid arsehole. He thinks I loved him. And he still loves me? That’s so funny, Gi!’ or something equally as dumb.
He won’t make the same mistake again.
+
Zayn answered to the short, polite, meaningful email. ‘Aha it’s okay bro we’ve all been there. And sure, see you tomorrow night. :)'
It’s great news actually, since it kickstarted Harry’s plan to get over Zayn. Now all he has to do is not drink too much, bury all memories of Zayn’s lips on his skin into some inaccessible part of his brain and act like Niall. Be chill, don’t let anyone force you to drink more than you want and pretend like your ex is an old acquaintance. Just three simple steps that he has to keep in mind. He should manage it. Perhaps this would’ve been simpler if he listened to Dua when she shoved him the lyrics to ‘New Rules’ for the first time. ‘You’ll never get over him if you keep thinking about him, babe. Just get him out of your head, you know?’. She was right, of course. Harry realized it a bit late, but he did nonetheless. Maybe he should call her and get her to make some rules for him. It would sure make his life a hell lot of simpler.
Seeing Zayn for the second time in one week after all three years of nothing feels alien, as if they didn’t use to be together 24/7, always touching, talking, kissing. Harry gets an eerie sense of dejá-vu, something about seeing Zayn walking up to him with a smile and whiskey on rocks in his hand both as familiar as coming home after a long day as it is strange, unknown. His heart is beating in his throat, all the blood rushing through his head so loud it overpowers the sound of the party all around him. It makes the chatter of dozens of people and clatter of hundreds of glasses almost inaudible, like something that’s happening miles upon miles away. Nothing matters right now. Nothing except Zayn being almost in front of him again.
Harry closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a few deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Then he smiles, as wide as he can. Zayn is just his old friend, even if Harry has to chant it over and over in his head like a mantra.
“Hey,” Harry says when Zayn’s finally in earshot. The smile stays glued on his face, as if it was the only seam left that’s keeping him together, keeping him from falling down in tiny little pieces.
“Hi. Having a good night?” Zayn asks and takes a sip of his whiskey. Looking at his throat, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows almost brings Harry to his knees and all of his hard work would be worthless. Why can’t Zayn be ugly? Just really unattractive so Harry wouldn’t feel on fire every time he looked at him.
“Sure. You must be having an awesome one though. Congrats, by the way.”
Zayn rolls his eyes but a smile takes over his face shortly after.
“It’s all Taylor. These old dudes hate me.”
“Stop being so modest. Your voice is the best part of the song and you know it,” Harry mentally slaps himself. What a way to go, arsehole.
“It’s not, trust me. Anyways, let’s go sit down somewhere, shall we? You mentioned catching up if I remember correctly,” Zayn says with a small smile.
Harry’s dumbfounded. How is it possible that Zayn seriously wants to talk? After all this time, after Harry’s nonsensical words at the pre-party, after everything that happened? Why does he have any kindness left for Harry? He knows that he doesn’t deserve even a proper glance from Zayn, not even a polite ‘Hello’ and yet, here he is, grasping the opportunity like a starved animal.
Harry barely recognizes the person that Zayn is now. A certain grace and aloofness that surround him are a complete novelty. He’s all easy smiles and keen eyes, ultimately ignoring the whole room around him. There are curious eyes everywhere, staring him down with envy, admiration and lust but Zayn pays it no mind. Something that would’ve made him fidget and run out of the room for a cigarette break now slides past him like a racing car that Zayn gives zero fucks about. And Harry’s aching to know more, see more of the person that Zayn grew up into while Harry was sulking and nursing his broken heart with fleeting distractions and smooth curves.
“Of course. Can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to lately,” Harry clears his throat and follows Zayn through the sea of people chatting, making connections, trying to get laid. He fears he’ll lose him, gets cut away from him by moving bodies and flinging arms but Zayn stops and looks behind him with a tight-lipped smile, his eyes finding Harry’s and he waits. Harry catches up with him, fighting off party goers and ignores the way his heart is pounding in his chest. Is this how it’s gonna be like every time Zayn makes a basic nice gesture? Harry hopes not, otherwise he should start looking up some good cardiologists.
They find an empty booth eventually and sit down, putting enough distance between them that two people could easily fit there. The space between is a happy medium – enough so they can hear each other but also enough so their knees and elbows don’t accidentally touch. Just like the old mates that they are.
“I’m sorry I haven’t tried to talk to you sooner,” Harry blurts out. Zayn doesn’t respond. He just eyes Harry with an unreadable expression on his face, his emotions hidden. Just like the old times, he’s indecipherable, guarded by thick walls of protection. Gone are the days when Harry knew how to climb over the walls, even fly over them as easy as a bird. He used to always find a way to get through them – smash them, dig a tunnel under them. Now, all he can do is stare at Zayn’s perfect features and wonder about what’s going through Zayn’s mind. Pray that a quirk of his eyebrow or a blink will reveal at least a small bit of Zayn’s thoughts to Harry.
“I was so fucking stupid about this whole thing,” Harry continues. “But I’ve moved on from that. Believe it or not, I got my shit together. And I want to be your friend. If you want me to. In the way we used to be at the very beginning before… everything. I miss having someone to laugh at my jokes but also to make fun of me. So, yeah. Please say something because I’ve basically laid it all out. No one’s ever gotten this much stuff from me. Especially not voluntarily,” Harry takes a deep breath as he lays his forearms down on the sticky table. He looks at his hands for a second before he musters up the courage to look at Zayn. When he does lift his head up, Harry finds Zayn looking at him with a rather curious stare. Harry can’t keep his eyes off him. They just stare at each other, and stare and stare and stare. Captivated by each other as Harry’s brain is whirring with queries and thoughts, paralyzed in anticipation of what will be said now. All until Zayn breaks out into laughter, leaving Harry utterly confused.
“God, Harry, you’re like, so serious, it’s creeping me out. Of course, I want to be your friend. We’re adults, just because we used to fuck doesn’t mean we can’t hang out now, yeah? Like, that happened three years ago. We… ended the way we did but I think we’re completely different people now. It’s all in the past. Besides, I’ve got Gigi, so. You’re dating someone too, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry whispers. What the fuck?
The little insignificant fact that Harry hasn’t been in a relationship since whatever he and Zayn were doing is unimportant. Harry doesn’t even know why he said he’s dating someone. Who would he even be dating? The only person Harry’s interested in and has been pining for since 2015 is sitting right in front of him. Funny thing that the person just mentioned his girlfriend and diminished their relationship from “used to be together” to deprecating “used to fuck”. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Harry’s plan of getting over Zayn will be a hundred times simpler for now. Well, it will be after Harry deals with the fact that their relationship was just “fucking around” for Zayn.
Harry suddenly wants to punch him. Rearrange his perfect face, strip off the easy smirks and temporarily demolish his beauty. Used to fuck. Used to fuck. So that’s what it was? Fucking just out of convenience. Four years that were essentially nothing. Empty promises and worthless I-love-you’s. But this is Harry’s own fault. He and Zayn were always friends first and foremost and then lovers. When they said ‘I love you’, Zayn must’ve meant ‘Love you, bro’ while Harry wanted to scream ‘I’m in love with you’. And that was the biggest different between them.
But still, they were never friends, not in the way they are with the other boys. Harry never wanted to snog the living daylights out of Niall during concerts. Zayn didn’t use to touch Louis with the gentleness that was reserved just for Harry. Ever since they first laid their eyes on each other, Harry and Zayn couldn’t’ve been friends. For years, they laid somewhere in the middle of the scale between friends and boyfriends but fully reaching neither and their ‘I love you’s’ were essentially just empty words they thought they should say. Too bad they never realized it.
“Harry? Are you even listening?”
Harry blinks slowly, focusing his eyes on Zayn. He forces a wide smile on his face, the lopsided one that screams ‘FAKE. FAKE. FAKE.’. It almost hurts. His face, his teeth, his heart. With every passing second, he feels like he’s going to break apart, disintegrate to dust and join the particles in the air. Disappear for good. Get to a place where he won’t ever have to look at Zayn’s face anymore and feel the misery he feels now.
“Sorry, spaced out for a bit,” Harry chuckles.
Zayn starts to talk again but Harry just tunes him out. He can’t deal with this, not right now. His entire romantic past has been completely redefined by one simple sentence and Harry can’t cope. He needs a drink, maybe like ten shots of tequila but he drove here to keep himself from getting drunk again. If there were some alcohol in his system maybe Harry could be just fine smiling and pretending like Zayn hasn’t broken his heart again. Acting like they were never anything more than friends and colleagues who fell out of touch with each other. But not like this. He feels raw, almost in the same exact way he did three years ago. Back when he was getting used to his bed being too empty and too cold without a warm body to hold him at night. A sharp knife slicing through his chest, exposing all the hurt that’s been hidden there left falling freely to the floor is the only way he could describe the sensation of cold running through his veins, making his heart appear heavy, as if it was pumping goo instead of blood.
“I’m sorry, I need to go now,” Harry exclaims suddenly, letting his voice be carried over the chatter, music and Zayn’s voice. “I’ve got… an early session in the studio tomorrow, some weird scheduling conflicts, you know how it is. It was great talking to you, let me know if you ever want to hang out again. Bye, Zayn. Have a great night,” Harry blurts out the words so quickly he’s not exactly sure Zayn even hears it all between the noise of the party and loud music. But he doesn’t care. Harry needs one thing right now and that is to get the fuck out of this room.
He gets up quickly, hitting his thigh on a sharp edge of the table and walks away as quickly as the masses of people allow him to. Something that vaguely sounds like his name being shouted follows him but Harry doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around. What? It’s loud. If it’s a friend he can use it as an excuse.
Harry finally gets to a relatively quiet hallway leading to the exit and he takes a first proper breath since he saw Zayn at the party. He knows it’s risky but despite that, he leans back against a wall and closes his eyes. Driving like this could be dangerous, he needs to get his head together and just breathe for a moment.
“Harry? What’s the matter with you?” Fuck. Harry forces his eyes open and the first thing he sees is Zayn, standing too close in front of him. A concerned look is prominent on his face and Harry wants to cry. He’s actually going to start bawling like an infant if he doesn’t get away in time.
“I’m fine. I told you I need to call it night because of an early studio session.”
“You don’t need to lie. Not to me.”
“Not-“
“Hey, guys. Can I get a quick photo of you two?”
Harry was about to yell. He was ready to start screaming at the top of his lungs until his voice gave away so Zayn would finally understand. They’re not who they used to be. There’s nothing keeping what they had alive. Hell, there was nothing between them after all. Zayn said as much this evening. So, Harry has to lie, especially to him. Every single breath he takes around Zayn is a lie. Harry’s entire being when he’s near Zayn is a fucking lie because Harry never wanted this to turn out like that. Never wanted to pretend like Zayn was just a stranger, someone he’s met in passing and shared a few moments with. Harry never wanted to act like his heart wasn’t aching for the love that was taken away from him, for the person that he could share anything and everything with. His other half that had been with him for years and suddenly, there was just void instead.
“Yeah, of course, mate,” Harry says instead of pouring his heart out. Maybe he’ll save it for another day. Maybe one day he’ll get tired of pretending to be Zayn’s friend and he’ll finally yell, scream and shout out the truth. Blow up like a volcano that has been waiting for thousands of years to create havoc and be set free. Leave a Pompeii in its wake. All their memories and love that used to keep them together like glue now covered with the black tar and ashes of their crumbled relationship.
Zayn’s clearly perplexed but he doesn’t protest and stands next to Harry. Their arms brush and Harry ignores it. He just smiles, as wide as he can. The flash blinds them two times before the photographer gives them a thumbs up and leaves.
Before Zayn has a chance to speak, grab Harry’s wrist or do pretty much anything, Harry turns on his heel and with a shouted “Bye, Zayn!”, he leaves him standing in the hallway.