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December 4, 2013
It’s scary how hard it is for me to define home. Home these days has become hotel rooms with beds that hold the memory of hundreds before me, and a seat in the sky that hinders me of the ability to straighten my legs. Sometimes I ask you guys if you feel the same way I do, and you’re the only one that doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m pretty sure it’s just because you’re the best at keeping a straight face, or maybe because you know I’ll be happier if I feel sane. You always just want me to be happier.
I don’t know how you do it. We barely spend time on UK soil anymore, but you manage to feel such a sense of belonging there. I can’t feel that. Why can’t I feel that? Maybe it’s because I don’t belong anywhere, or is it possible that I belong everywhere at once? I suppose I’ve always been a bit prone to wanderlust. Maybe one day when I spend more than a week in one place I’ll find a way to get comfortable there. I just hope that one day I can find where I belong, where I can feel safe.
That place sure as hell isn’t this plane. London, LA, New York, London, and now back to New York. How exactly does that make sense? This is my job, something I’m forced to be okay with, no matter how much my body tries to fight my travel plans. My head won’t stop pounding, and I’ve confused myself to the point that I don’t know when I’m supposed to be asleep or awake, so I’m constantly in a battle with ten kilogram eyelids.
At this point, I can only hope I’m ready for the SNL performance tomorrow night. If I don’t pass out on stage I’ll be happy. I love this life, I really do, but sometimes I just need a day or two exclusively to a bed and myself. I don’t mind the paparazzi, and I have a handle on how to deal with the screaming girls, I just don’t think I’ll ever get used to the exhaustion.
I look over at you and I can tell you feel the same way. Niall is going on and on about something, and even from the other side of the aisle I see how your top eyelashes linger when caressing the bottom ones. You should go to sleep, tell Niall to shut it, but you’ve always been bad at that. It’s one of your best qualities and also one of your greatest weaknesses; you care too deeply, love too hard.
I can’t help but admire you as you rub the rough stubble that scatters your crisp jawline. Without thinking, my right hand gently runs across the inner elbow of my left arm, a habit I’ve found myself forming when I look at you for too long. Things I can’t. I can’t have you, she has you, and she’s going to have you forever. I hope she knows who she’s won. I hope she works for you, and I hope that she deserves you someday. Although, I don’t think it’s possible to deserve you, you’re too amazing.
If I didn’t know better, I would swear that you’re a god, Zayn Malik. Molded by the heavens and sent down to grace us lesser beings with your presence. The glare that shoots off your smile, your dangerously defined cheekbones, and most importantly, those almond eyes I could swim marathons in. No, there’s no way you’re human, it’s just simply not possible. You’re the angel with the million-dollar face, the bone structure that could stop a man in his tracks, and then kill him with a single, effortless glance.
+++
Zayn pulled the short end of the straw this time and ended up next to Niall. Although, by now, all four boys have learned how to convince Niall they’re listening when they’re not. It’s not that hard really, when Niall talks it’s more to himself than anyone else. They’ll nod their head a few times, say things like “sounds exciting”, make occasional eye contact, and let Niall work off his hyperactive jaw.
Niall is droning on about something to do with Will Ferrell, and Zayn can hardly keep his eyes open long enough to feign listening. That’s when he notices Harry looking straight at him, eyes glazed over, clearly not realizing that it’s terribly easy for Zayn to figure out he’s getting stared at.
Normally, he wouldn’t think anything of it. The boys are all tired, they stare off sometimes and don’t realize, but lately there’s been an exceptional amount of Harry staring at Zayn. When they’re in interviews or when they’re performing. It seems like lately whenever Zayn looks over at Harry, Harry’s already looking back.
Zayn’s been worried about Harry recently. Not that he usually isn’t, he constantly is, but it’s different this time around. Harry never seems quite right. Normally, Zayn would attribute this to the sleep deprivation, but Harry’s the Duracell bunny that keeps going even when there’s nothing left. It’s not like Harry to let anything get to him, especially not a couple lost hours of shuteye here and there.
Harry tells himself that no one’s noticed the change, but how could they miss it? He’s distant and groggy, unlike his usual in your face, I have to do everything right this minute, self. He tries, he really does. He tries to channel that attitude he used to have, tries to be that happy-go-lucky boy everybody’s used to, but he just can’t. He’s too drained, and there’s only so much trying someone can do before they run out of energy.
When Harry finally manages to get a hold of himself, he snaps, not only back into reality, but also into those eyes that pierce a dagger through his heart. There’s a moment of green to brown that Harry would swear lasted an eternity. He waited for the oxygen masks to fall, to bring the relief of air back into his lungs, but the only thing crashing down was the barrier Harry’s been hiding behind. In that moment he felt his façade disappear.
It happened so quickly that Zayn wasn’t prepared. For a second, Harry was an open book. Zayn could never miss the loneliness in those army green eyes, or the way Harry’s hand trembled as he regained control. Before that moment, Zayn would have sworn that he’d seen every part of Harry. He had seen him in his worst, his best, and everything in between, but never like this.
Zayn couldn’t remember feeling this way ever before. He wanted nothing more then to go over and embrace Harry in that moment. He had this overwhelming urge to ignore the common sense screaming from his head, to hold Harry and promise him that he’ll fix whatever’s wrong. To be the toddler that doesn’t want to share his Harry toy. Zayn wanted Harry, and he was terrified that the want would continue past that split second moment.
+++
Harry had just become one with his duvet, when there was a knock on the door. He hoped that if he ignored it long enough whoever it was would decide it was in their better interest to walk away.
“Haz, I know you’re in there. Open up.” Harry instinctually responded to the rough accent, his eyes fluttered open and his heart began racing. He shot up out of bed, but his body felt like a sack of dead weight he had to drag around, fighting him on his decision to leave the sea of blankets that he had been daydreaming about for hours.
By the time he made it to the door he was afraid Zayn would be gone, but when he flung it open he was met with the contrast of midnight black hair to latte colored skin, a white cigarette tucked neatly behind Zayn’s ear. Harry couldn’t help but follow his gentle lips while they pushed out the words, “Was just wondering if you wanted to keep me company while I go for a smoke.”
Half of Harry wanted to deny the offer and snuggle up in his bed again, while the other half wanted to drag Zayn in to snuggle up with him. He decided that he could at least manage to stay awake for as long as a cigarette takes to burn. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to let you suffer through the loneliness of a Marlboro alone.”
Zayn’s mouth curled up at the corners in the beginning of a laugh, his eyes just slightly squinting and making contact with the floor in a somewhat forced chuckled. “You’re a true mate, Haz.” Harry grabbed his room key off the nightstand and followed Zayn to the stairs. “There’s supposed to be a nice little garden on the roof that we can head up to.”
Zayn opened the roof access door and was greeted with the warmth of sunshine on his cheeks and a cool afternoon breeze on his back. Harry stalked behind until they were looking over the edge of the building, and directly at the Empire State. Harry always admired New York for its silhouette. The strict lines of the towers that licked the sky made him feel important just for being graced with their presence.
In one swift movement, Zayn had pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and a lighter from his pocket. He carefully balanced the former between his index and middle finger as the thumb of his right hand scraped familiarly against the metal wheel on top of the lighter. He danced carefully through the routine as it had been rehearsed so much that it was tattooed into his brain. Harry couldn’t help but stare as Zayn took the first drag, throwing his head back and closing his eyes with the fulfilling rush of nicotine. Zayn made a gentle circle with his mouth as he breathed out and made his way back to earth.
There was a nervous flick at the lighter as the flame carefully licked out and then disappeared quickly, once, twice, three times. “So, are you going to tell me what was wrong today?” The question caught Harry by surprise, and he stumbled over, sitting on the rooftop’s wall for support.
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been tired, that’s all.” Harry knew how old the “I’m just tired” excuse has been getting recently, but he was hoping Zayn would accept it and move on. He was wrong, per usual.
“I’m not stupid Harry. We’ve all been tired for three years, but you’ve been different recently. I see you spacing out all the time and scratching at your journal more often. Something’s obviously been bothering you.”
Harry considered denying it again. Seeing how long he could play this game before Zayn tried to force it out of him. But he also knew how much extra trouble that would cause, and didn’t have the energy for unnecessary drama today. “You really don’t have to worry about it. I love you for being concerned Zaynie, but it’s nothing worth your time. I’ve just been confused about…things. I haven’t really felt like myself, you know? It’s no big deal, I’m sure I’ll feel better after a little break.”
Although Harry didn’t exactly answer his question, Zayn decided it was best to just leave it for now. After all, sometimes with Harry, minimal dialogue was better than none. That was more of a confession then he had expected anyways. He expected Harry to put up a fight or try and change the subject. It wasn’t worth prodding more, and he was also afraid of upsetting Harry more. “I don’t think any of us aren’t confused. None of us really know what we’re doing. I know that I don’t feel like myself half the time. Just come talk to me if things don’t get better, okay? I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
Harry stood up to respond, and as he did he felt his hand glide on something smooth, juxtaposing the stone surface of the wall he was leaning on. He looked back to the spot he had just left and was met with a perfect black square contrasting with the light tan wall underneath it. Zayn took notice as Harry approached the edge of the roof and leaned down, reading something out of Zayn’s view. “What is it, Haz?”
“’This is a good kiss spot.’” This clearly wasn’t what Zayn had expected to hear. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at a mess of unwashed curls. He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that, verbally, physically, or emotionally.
Zayn managed to choke out a cough followed by a brief, “What are you talking about?” It took a moment before Harry realized that Zayn probably thought he had gone mental. Zayn hadn’t seen the black square on the wall, and he certainly hadn’t read the message that sat upon it.
“Sorry, it’s just, someone has decided that this roof is a good spot to kiss on.” Zayn’s eyes widened and followed Harry’s finger down to the top of the ledge. On it, he discovered that Harry had found a little black sticker with the starch white words, This is A Good Kiss Spot.
There was a moment of silence, filled with nervous glances back and forth between the boys, and when Zayn couldn’t stand it anymore he decided to break it. “It is quite the romantic view.” A quick gulp for courage, “Besides, what could it hurt?” It’s not like they hadn’t locked lips before. All five boys kissed each other more than anyone would consider a healthy amount. It wasn’t about that this time though.
Zayn wasn’t sure why he said what he did. He convinced himself that it was because he thought if they shared a peck and went on their way then maybe things would go back to normal. He shoved the real motivation to the back of his mind. He buried the fact that part of him wanted this. Wanted to take in what Harry’s lips felt against his, how he smelled, how he tasted, things he normally wouldn’t pay attention to. Zayn was too scared to admit that though, even to himself, and maybe he would kiss Harry and realize that these feelings had been made up all along.
Harry didn’t know how to respond to what he had just heard. He looked up at Zayn, emerald meeting chocolate, and he could feel his stomach making a home in his throat. His heart echoed the sound of two little kids double dutching, and he would swear he looked like some dumb old cartoon, his heart trying to jump out of his skin. Harry stared into that unique freckle in Zayn’s left eye, it was one of his favorite parts of Zayn and it always managed to calm him down, even if it was just a little bit. He tried to keep his breathing under control so Zayn couldn’t sense how freaked out Harry really was, but he doubted that he was accomplishing that very well.
“Yeah.” Harry spoke even slower than usual, afraid his voice would start shaking. “You’re right, a little kiss never hurt anybody.” Wrong. Kisses hurt a lot of people. Even though Harry couldn’t think of an example in that moment, he was sure it was true. There’s always a yin and a yang, a good and bad. Nothing’s ever perfect, but this moment had happened a million times in his head, and it had always been perfect.
The two stood frigid in their places, both too scared to step towards the other. Zayn decided that procrastinating wasn’t doing either of them any good so he took a single, long stride forward. It brought them toe-to-toe and hesitating to get any closer. The tips of their noses barely brushed each other, and two exhales met in the middle to become one. Zayn’s breath caught in his throat as he snaked a hand around Harry’s waist, and he felt Harry’s body tense underneath him. Harry tested out a few different places for his hands. First Zayn’s waist, then one on his waist and one on his shoulder, and after a few awkward shifts he settled on both hands resting behind Zayn’s head so he could run his fingers through the bottom of Zayn’s hairline. This was different than all those other shared kisses. There was preparation, emotion, and fragility, something that neither had found in the other before.
Chapped lips met bitten ones and a quick peck turned into a drawn out embrace. The sweet taste of tobacco mixed with the intense rush of nicotine as Harry tasted Zayn’s breath. Zayn tensed and pulled Harry’s body closer to his. Harry quickly became a mess of trying to touch every part of Zayn, tousling his hair, running his hands down Zayn’s back and over his hips. There was so much want, so much need, coming from both parties.
It spooked Zayn after a few seconds and he forced an early end to the kiss. As he pulled away, Harry found himself trailing him, leaning into the warmth he’d lost. Harry’s eyes grew big and started to water, making it clear that he hadn’t expected rejection as an endgame. Zayn turned his back to Harry, taking one last drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his black combat boot.
This was the opposite of what Zayn was expecting, or at least of what he was hoping would happen. Suddenly it became impossible to deny the feelings he had become so good at repressing. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t face Harry, and Zayn just wasn’t sure what Harry would do. With all the emotion running through him it couldn’t possibly be a good time to make decisions. No, he would sleep now, and decide later.
Zayn ran for the stairs, leaving Harry to become one with the New York skyline.
+++
December 4, 2013
What the fuck?
+++
Zayn had given up on trying to sleep. Tossing and turning for what must have been hours by now seemed like the lack of a solution. He just wished this had happened sooner, or maybe later, he just wished it had happened at a better time. He wanted so badly to run to Harry and tell him how he’d been feeling. He also wanted to call Perrie and tell her how much he loved her. Did he love her though? Is it possible to love two people at once?
Theory would say no. That if you really loved someone there wasn’t room to love another the same way. Lust, maybe, but not love. So whom did he love then? Zayn truly thought that he felt the same way about both of them. It was just a matter of deciding who’s best for him at this point, whom he would be happiest with for the rest of his life.
He had made a promise to Perrie, a promise to commit his life to her. An engagement was nothing that Zayn thought of lightly. When he proposed he was completely committed to forever and a day with her. After all, he loved her, or thought he did. Perrie was the life he had dreamed of since he was a little boy.
Is that all she was? Was she only a dream he had somehow managed to fulfill and now couldn’t get over? Just because she was the fantasy he always wanted doesn’t mean that she was the reality he needed. Maybe she isn’t what’s best, but what’s most appealing.
Then there’s Harry; sweet, lovable, energy of the earth, Harry. The boy Zayn was fated to meet. The one who walked into his life unannounced and made Zayn realize how amazing one person could be. The only one who could truly make him feel weak, the one who couldn’t help but light up every room he walked in, and the one who Zayn couldn’t imagine a life without.
Zayn knew at the end of the day that Harry was perfect, but was he perfect for him? After all, Harry was also unpredictable and he never seemed to think about his actions. Harry wasn’t safe. He was wild and unsettled. How could Zayn build a life with someone when he doesn’t even know what country they’re going to be in tomorrow?
Zayn liked safe, he built his world around safe. The one time he wasn’t safe was that fate-filled day on the x-factor stage. He tried to be safe. To protect himself, but his mother wouldn’t let him throw the opportunity away. The only time he took the daring way happened to be the time his life changed forever. So maybe not safe was the best way to go.
That night was filled with tossing and turning from both boys. Zayn contemplating the decision that sat in front of him and Harry hitting replay on the electric moment when Zayn’s lips met his. Who knew that one moment could turn into an endless night? One split second of racing hearts and clouded thoughts turned into days of tiptoeing around each other.
+++
It was clear, at least from Zayn’s end, that contact just wasn’t an option. Harry tried. He requested the same breaks as Zayn, made sure they stood next to each other in the promo shoot, and most importantly that they spend any time possible in the same room.
Meanwhile, Zayn’s shoulder had an icicle hanging off of it. He wouldn’t even look in the direction of Harry in fear that they might accidentally make some form of eye contact. It got to the point that Harry stood right in front of him, and he just simply turned and walked away as if Harry wasn’t there at all.
The lads could all tell that it was driving Harry mad. Of course, none of them knew what had happened, but there was no denying the presence of Zayn’s bad mood. They kept asking Harry what he had done to bother Zayn. After all, it was usually Harry dealing with Zayn’s bullshit. When one of the boys pissed Zayn off Harry was the one to bring him back down, to comfort him. Something just didn’t feel right about Harry being on the backlash end of Zayn’s annoyance.
What Harry didn’t know was that Zayn wasn’t annoyed at all. He knew it wasn’t Harry’s fault; he was the instigator in this situation. It was his fault that any of this had happened in the first place. He just didn’t know how to face Harry. Didn’t know what he would do if he allowed himself the gift of just a few seconds eye contact. The only thing he was aware of was the probability that he won’t be able to hold back.
He’s scared about the lack of self-control that comes along with looking into Harry’s eyes. If he’s being honest with himself, he knows exactly what would happen. His heart would race, palms would sweat, and Zayn’s barrier would crumble to the ground. He knows this because it’s all he’s been imagining all day. A split second of eye contact, a couple step forwards, his fingers intertwined with Harry’s, and then he would crash his lips into those cotton candy ones. He doesn’t care who would see and doesn’t care who would judge, all he cares about is tasting Harry one more time.
+++
December 5, 2013
I don’t know what’s going on anymore, really. You would barely look at me all day. During rehearsals you would only stay in the same room as me for as long as they were forcing you to. For the first time, I just don’t understand. I get that the kiss was probably weird for you. Hell, it was weird for me too. I just don’t know what this kind of reaction is.
I mean, I thought I knew you better than anyone. I’m so familiar with the fire that fills your eyes when you get protective of one of us, or the way you check your phone every five minutes when you start to get homesick and all you want is to hear your sisters’ voices. No matter how awkward things get, or how unsorted your feelings are, you never run. Sure, you have a terrible habit of slinking into your shell, you’ll pretend you’re asleep until five pm to avoid anyone disturbing you, but you’ve never distinctly avoided me.
You’ll talk to me, or let me cuddle you until you’re ready to get up, but this is unchartered territory. It’s like you’re not willing to sort out whatever problem it is that you have from yesterday.
I thought the kiss didn’t mean anything to you. I thought you were taking the piss since I had been staring at you earlier. Could it be that something else motivated you? The only thing I can think of is that you have feelings for me, something I didn’t know about, maybe you didn’t either. Of course, I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you’re happy. I just don’t know where to go from here.
Should I talk to you? Will you even be willing to talk to me? Maybe you will. Maybe we’ll talk this out, and maybe you’ll even realize that you wanted me all along. You’ll realize that I’m the one who can make you truly happy. After all, I’m the one that’s always with you. I’m the one you come to when you’re upset because I know how to make you feel better. It only makes sense that you’ve finally realized that I could be the one.
I hope I’m not getting ahead of myself. I love you to the stars and back, and I really do only want what will make you happiest. It’s okay if it’s not me. If she’s what you want then I’ll support you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to be me. The selfish side of me wants nothing more than you forever. To tell you how much you mean to me, to wake up to you every morning, and to be your everything. I think we could have that.
I guess I just really don’t know anymore. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know how I got here. I most certainly don’t know how to get out. It’s times like these that I wish there was an obvious answer. Something to jump out at me and say, “Look I’m here, isn’t it clear what to do?” For now, I’ll have to settle on the inability to sleep at night and the images of our kiss running through my head.
+++
It had taken Zayn 36 hours, but he had finally come to some form of a decision. It was on their flight back to London that he had managed to drift off into some much needed sleep. The last thing Zayn saw was the crisp Sunday sunrise greeting him out the window during takeoff, and then there was an elbow in his side. The sunrise had turned into the gray, rainy sky behind Heathrow. Zayn woke up energized, confident, a bit nauseous, and ready to commit to his plan of action. He knew that this was the right thing, not only for him, but for Harry too. It was just a matter of finding the right moment to tell him.
+++
The first stars had just started to sprinkle the night sky when Harry’s phone lit up with a text from Zayn.
“Need to talk. Meet me on London Bridge. xx” Harry’s heart fluttered, and before he knew what he was doing he had managed to pull on his shoes and jacket and run out the door.
Harry hailed the first taxi he saw and struggled to breathe out a short, “London Bridge, please.” It was then that he realized that he was in no way prepared for the conversation he was about to have. He didn’t know where Zayn was on this. Harry had no idea whether this was going to be good or bad, and he really didn’t know whether or not he could handle it.
He took a few drawn out deep breaths before he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the smooth, leather seat. He told himself that the fact that he was having this conversation was a blessing alone, and no matter what Zayn says he should be thankful for it. Harry reminded himself that Zayn was not his, not unless Zayn wanted to be. That whatever Zayn has to say has taken two days of well thought out Zayn logic to come to. If he had decided something then it was what’s right.
Harry still wasn’t sure if knowing this would help him recover if he heard bad news come out of Zayn’s tempting mouth.
+++
Fifteen minutes later and Harry had just stepped out of his cab. He frantically looked around the bridge, scanning every inch of it hunting for that Raven black hair and those gorgeous hazel eyes. He finally spotted Zayn in the middle of the bridge; wearing his black acne jacket and those black skinnies Harry adores so much. He thought his knees were going to give out at the sight of it.
Harry just had to work up the strength to walk over to him, or at least work up the strength to lift one of his legs, to move, to do something besides just stand there and gawk. Finally, Zayn turned around and saw Harry lingering behind him. He started at Harry and somehow Harry had managed to make his feet work and met Zayn halfway.
“I’m glad you came, Harry. I’ve been thinking a lot since the roof the other night, and I just didn’t think it was fair to keep avoiding you.”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing managed to come out. Frustrated with himself, his hands became fists as he opened his mouth to start again, but all he managed to squeeze out was a slow, painful, “Yeah.” Feeling defeated, he decided it was best to leave it at that as he let his eyes meet Zayn’s shoes.
“I broke up with Perrie.” No introduction, no warning, just a blunt statement spat out of Zayn’s mouth. Harry’s head snapped up to meet Zayn’s eyes again and his fists unraveled as his left hand gripped the bridge’s railing for support. His head was spinning and his mouth felt as though it was suddenly filled with sand. Zayn ignored Harry’s reaction and continued on.
“I knew awhile ago that we would never work together, at least not permanently. Sure, we work fine in short spurts. Seeing each other for a day or two and then it’s off for a month until we manage another day or two. Anything more than that and it becomes obvious how much we really clash.
She’s a great girl, and that’s why I had to let her go. She deserved the happiness that we could never find together. It’s like the day after I proposed…I asked her to keep it a secret, to just tell her family. Then she came to the premiere and made it her goal that day for her ring to be noticed, and that wasn’t fair to me. It was supposed to be my day, our day, y’know? I was devastated when the headlines the next day were about that stupid ring instead of our stupid movie.
That’s when I realized that we could never work. She needed attention, needed the spotlight to be happy, which is fine, but I’ll never want that. I like the privacy. I liked having something between just us two that no one else was allowed in on. I like staying out of the magazines for as long as possible, and she gets upset when her name isn’t in print at least once a week. That’s just not a life I can live, I suppose.”
Zayn took a deep breath in and Harry could see the tears threatening to fall. Harry knew how much love Zayn had for Perrie and it must not have been easy to end it, to realize that all that time and love was wasted. It wasn’t a surprise though, all the boys knew how much happier Zayn would be with someone else. They saw the strain that Perrie put on him. The pressure to be Hollywood’s it couple, to be the perfection Zayn was smart enough to know didn’t exist. It was for the best that Zayn got out of it sooner rather than later.
It took a second before Harry realized what this meant, that maybe Zayn was actually choosing him. He choked out a quiet, “Zayn?” The sadness for Zayn in his eyes mixed with flecks of hopefulness for their future. Zayn must have read this correctly because he hesitated for a moment before engulfing Harry’s hand in his own.
“Harry…” Zayn couldn’t bring his eyes to meet Harry’s. He tried looking at his nose, then his feet, and finally settled on resting his eyes on that idiotic things I can’t tattoo. “I can’t be with you either.”
The world came crashing down around Harry, he was sure of it. He pulled his hand away from Zayn’s as it met his other hand on the railing, desperately gripping it for support. He was sure there was no way he could stand on his own, no way he could keep from the mental break that was about to ensue.
“Harry, I am so sorry. I just think this is what’s best for us. I care for you, more than I ever thought I could, but it just wouldn’t wor-” Zayn was suddenly cut off by the sound of Harry’s laugh; although, this wasn’t his normal laugh. The sound coming from Harry in that moment almost scared Zayn. He took a step back trying to figure out where this was coming from, considering the fact that maybe he broke Harry. “Are you okay, Haz? You’re worrying me.”
Just then Harry looked up at Zayn with intensity in his eyes that rarely came out to play. He picked up his right hand with some showmanship and started laughing harder. Zayn followed Harry’s glare down to where his hand had just been on the railing. There was something there that Zayn couldn’t quite make out in the dark so he stepped closer.
On the railing sat a little square black sticker, identical to the one on the ledge of the hotel rooftop. This is A Good Kiss Spot, but how had it travelled all the way here, to this moment?
That’s when Zayn joined Harry in a laughing fit that lasted ages. Both of them gripping their stomachs and keeling over the railing for support. It was as if the two of them had just been told the world’s funniest joke. They just stared down at that little black sticker that had apparently begun haunting them, and neither of them really knew what to do about it.
“I don’t think even you could pull of planting that there, Haz.” Was all Zayn could manage to choke out between giggles. It took a few minutes before both of them finally calmed down enough to catch their breath, and they realized that they were catching glares from all angles around them. Surely they looked like maniacs, laughing over nothing.
“I wish I had snuck that there, but this is too fucking brilliant even for me to do.” Harry finally looked up from the bleach white, printed words and found himself lost again in Zayn’s entrancing eyes. There was a beat of silence before Zayn stepped forward and cupped a hand behind Harry’s head, stepping so close that they began sharing oxygen. He leaned forward and let his lips barely graze Harry’s, and Harry couldn’t resist the opportunity to lean in further.
Harry poured every ounce of emotion he had ever felt towards Zayn into that kiss. He wanted Zayn to know that even if he couldn’t have him, he would always love him. He would always feel for him what he thought he could never feel for anyone. For a minute the world went black and it was just Zayn and Harry kissing under the moonlight.
Zayn finally pulled back, making sure the kiss didn’t last longer then what he presumed to be healthy. “The sticker was right, this is a good kiss spot.” He smiled, the kind of gentle smile that comes out when Zayn cares, but is smart enough to know the fragility of the moment.
Harry understood what the smile was for. It was Zayn’s way of telling him that just because they kissed doesn’t mean they’re forever. That he’s sticking by his word. That this is goodbye, at least for now. “Goodbye Zayn, I will always love you.”
“I love you too, Haz. Be good to yourself over our break. I’ll see you in a month.” And that was it. No lingering, no more words spoken. Zayn just turned and walked away, glancing back after a few steps to smile at Harry, a really genuine smile that warmed Harry’s heart and stuck with him as he started on the walk home.
+++
December 7, 2013
It’s strange; I think I slept better last night than I have in an extremely long time. I suppose there’s a part of me that found some sort of comfort in the closure of my feelings.
I don’t know how you had the confidence in me to figure out why we couldn’t be together on my own. You never told me, but I guess in my heart I always kind of knew. We would never work, could never work.
Sure, we would be happy short term. We would laugh a lot and enjoy each other’s company. We would make good memories and take cute selfies, but maybe that’s all we would ever be, memories. I guess long term we would end up clawing at each other, each of us getting under the other one’s skin. We’re just too different, I suppose.
There would be times when you just wanted to spend some time with your family, and I would want to run off to Aruba because of my inability to sit still. You would try to sleep 12 hours a day, and that would be all right with me for a little while, but eventually I would get bored. I would try to keep you moving when all you wanted was to stop for a bit. It would be unhealthy, the pull of me attempting to do everything and the push when you refused. It would cause more fights then it would solve.
That’s the other thing, who knows how we would solve fights? You would try to spare my feelings and I would try to fix you. Nothing would ever get done. We work as we are now. As much as I wish we could be more, it’s just not possible. We’re perfect as best friends, willing to share everything with each other. We’re not guarded or scared of hurting the other one, we’re just us, two people in the same situation supporting each other.
I’ll be hurt for awhile, blame myself, complain a lot, but in the end I know why you did what you did. I’ll try to party it off. I’ll go out and live through nights I don’t remember the next day. I’ll steal cigarettes off blokes who have raven black hair and eyes that can’t quite compare to your caramel ones. I’ll shag girls who recognize me from that one magazine that one time.
I’ll probably call you a lot and tell you how much I miss the safety of your arms around me, and I’m sorry for that. I can’t help it. I’ll miss you so much it hurts and the only way to fix the hurt is to listen to the recording on your voicemail until I can hear it in my sleep. I’ll cry a lot and complain to strangers about the man who broke my heart. They’ll tell me they’re sorry and then turn around and tell their friends about the crying, drunk idiot.
It’s okay though, because after that I’ll realize that I need to get over you. I’ll get sick of the drinking, the smoking, the crying, and just accept that you’ll never be all mine and that’s okay. Hopefully, I’ll come to terms with the fact that you’ve always been smarter than me about stuff like this. You think with your head instead of your heart, and you know what’s best in the long run, even if I don’t agree.
I think with my heart, Zayn Malik, and my heart says I love you. A part of my heart will forever scream my love for you. I can only hope you have a piece of your heart reserved for me too.