Archive of Our Own

       “People are staring.”

       “Obviously. We’re kissing like this is a rom-com and your monologue about how you love me just kept me from going to like, Paris to become a fashion designer.”

      They both laugh, the sound wet with tears they both just wiped off. Zayn opens his mouth to say something but he’s interrupted by the flight announcement. He rolls his eyes and Harry wants to kiss him but he doesn’t think he’d be able to let go if he did so. It’s gonna be so fucking hard missing him all the time. Thankfully, they’re not actually in a rom-com, so their careers don’t regularly suffer in the name of love. They’ll wait for each other.

      “I guess I should be getting my ass on that plane the lady just talked about,” Harry says with a strained smile, tears trying to escape his eyes again. A single one does and he quickly wipes it with his fingers.

      “I love you so much, okay?” Zayn says, his right hand holding Harry’s cheek, Harry’s own hand covering Zayn’s. “I’ll come visit you in a few months, I promise. It’ll fly by so quickly we won’t even realize it. And you’re gonna do amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

      “Yeah,” Harry nods, his vision clouded by tears. “Fuck, look at me. I’m a mess. God, I hate this so much. I should’ve just… cried at home and taken an Uber to the airport.”

      “We’re never flying from JFK ever again when you get back. This place is traumatic. I’m always gonna just think about today if I ever get here again.”

      “I really have to go but I don’t wanna leave you,” Harry whines as he pulls Zayn into a hug. He swears this is the last one.

      “I know. I don’t want you to go but this isn’t forever, yeah? This is just a… well not a very brief intermission but it’s one nonetheless.”

       “Kiss me?” Harry asks, pulling away slightly so he can see Zayn’s face. “Last one before… God knows when.”

      Zayn manages a sad smile before pulling Harry into a kiss. It tastes bitter, knowing they won’t kiss, won’t even touch for months. Harry tries to remember every little detail. The feeling of Zayn’s lips on his, his hands on Harry’s waist. That little freckle in Zayn’s eye and the way his eyes look like in the sun, both things that Skype or Facetime just can’t convey. How his skin smells, the mix of his body wash and his cologne, the one in the black bottle, same one Harry secretly bought last week and packed in the bottom of his biggest suitcase.

      There are things he doesn’t want to remember but will, no matter how he tries to ignore them. The constant chatter of people everywhere around them, mixed with the sound of thousands of suitcase wheels rolling on the floor. All the obnoxious airport sounds and planes taking off, ruining every attempt at some bleak solitude they try to have before saying goodbye. How their kiss is salty with tears, their embrace incomplete thanks to the bag that’s weighing Harry’s shoulder down.

      “Go, baby,” Zayn whispers into his lips when they finally stop kissing. “You’re gonna miss your plane and I won’t ever let you go then.”

      Harry tries to laugh but it comes out more of a sob than laughter. “I love you. I’ll miss you everyday.”

      “Call me when you land, yeah?”

       Harry nods, his throat too tight with how he’s trying to hold back tears.He’ll cry enough on the plane. “I will, I promise. Okay, I’m going. I love you, bye.”

      “Have a good time in London, yeah? I love you too. Have a safe flight, babe. I’ll see you soon.”

      With a last close-lipped kiss, they finally part at last. Harry doesn’t look back because they promised they wouldn’t stare after each other. Even though it’s been seconds, Harry’s confident long-distance relationships suck and hurt almost as much as a breakup.

###

      Harry arrives to his temporary apartment in London at around nine in the evening. The place is too big for one person, too modern and bare. He didn’t rent it himself, the company did. It’s so contrasting to the place he and Zayn have shared for more than three years now. A two-bedroom in a classic NYC brownstone in the middle of Manhattan. Place that isn’t a bare skeleton of a home but it is a home, one with books everywhere, art prints on the walls they’ve collected over the years and a couch that doesn’t smell like a new car.

      This apartment with floor length windows in the living room/kitchen and a bedroom with a massive bed that’s only going to make Harry feel even lonelier makes it seem like his home is a universe away, not an 8-hour flight.

      Despite the loneliness and alienation, Harry knows this is an incredible thing for his career. When his boss asked him if he would be willing to go to London for twelve to eighteen months to oversee the takeoff the company’s new branch office there, Harry barely hesitated. They’d pay for his accommodation and he’d still have his position back in New York when he came back. The conditions were essentially ideal.

      He dreaded not seeing his family and also telling Zayn. They had been together for four years by then but they were never faced with a situation like that before so Harry had no idea what to expect. He’s seen some of their friends fight over it, even break up “only while one of them is gone” and never get back together. Then there was the big bad wolf - cheating. It wasn’t the best timing for their relationship since they had been talking about buying a place together, settling down in a house or an apartment that was theirs and they could paint the walls without asking a grumpy landlord like they had to in their apartment. Everything they’ve built together could’ve crumbled like a sand castle under a toddler’s hands.

       It hasn’t so far and Harry hopes it won’t by the time he gets back home. Zayn was understanding and despite the certain melancholy surrounding Harry’s decision, he took him out to celebrate and didn’t make it only about their relationship like any other asshole would. He knew Harry wasn’t leaving only him behind. Harry wouldn’t see his family, his friends as well. It wasn’t fun, this wasn’t a trip somewhere for a month and it also wasn’t worth throwing their relationship away for. It’s the 21st century, they aren’t limited to a single letter every three months. If countless other couples can make it work, why couldn’t they?

      The weeks leading up to Harry’s departure were quite gloomy, as he and Zayn tried to shave their work schedules to basically nothing so they could spend time together. They walked around New York like tourists, visiting places they haven’t been to probably since they both moved there. Watching the sunrise over Hudson river, kissing at the top of the Empire State Building, walking around MOMA hand in hand. It was all terribly romantic, even if the dark monster that was ticking off minutes till Harry’s flight was following their every step.

      It’ll be some time till they can do it all over again when Harry comes back. In the meantime, they’ll have Skype sex and Facetime.

###

      “You’re kidding me. Lily? I won’t believe it until I see it with my own two eyes.”

      “Look at her Instagram, Haz.”

      “I’m kind of busy, love,” Harry waves the chef’s knife he’s holding in front of his laptop sitting on the kitchen island, where’s he had Skype open, Zayn’s face staring at him from an ocean away.

      “What are you cooking?” Zayn asks. Harry can see that he’s in their bed, the leather headboard and the throw pillows they got on their vacation in Mexico behind him. It’s late morning there, unlike the afternoon slowly slipping into evening here in London. A smile escapes his lips when a memory comes into his mind, the one of their complaining that they couldn’t tie anything to the headboard, unlike their old metal bed frame that saw some serious kinky shit. But the leather looked too good not to get the bed, especially since it was basically a steal. It was a poor insight, considering they noticed the lack of the bed’s sexual compatibility after it was already in their bedroom.

      “I’m making a stir fry. Without meat because I’ve been eating like a pig since I came here.”

      “You should probably take your clothes off so I can see if you gained any weight or not.”

      Harry glares at Zayn’s shit eating grin over his peppers. He starts cutting again, his head bent down to hide his smile.

      “You’ve been there for three months and suddenly, you don’t care about your healthy diet. Interesting that when we go out here in New York I have to eat kale salads and shit with you. You go to London and what, you get a full English breakfast every morning? If I couldn’t see your terrible cutting technique I’d think you were replaced by a clone.”

       Harry laughs, throwing his head back. He looks at his screen again and his heart stings at the sight of Zayn’s smile. It’s terrible he hasn’t been able to kiss him for so long. Skype sex can only do so much.

      “I’m going on a cleanse the second I get back to New York, I swear that to you,” Harry announces as he goes back to cutting vegetables. “I’ve been under the horrible influence of my co-workers. Red meats, alcohol, fatty foods. Cooking for one is depressing so I eat out most of the time. And you know what I do? I top it all off with sweets because there’s an amazing bakery just around the corner, I pass it every day when I go to and from work. I hate this.”

      “You finally enjoying food aside, I’ve got some very good news for you,” Zayn says. When Harry looks at the screen, he can see Zayn is now in their home office.

      “Better than Lily getting engaged to the biggest dick in Manhattan after two months of dating?”

      “Certainly.”

      Harry looks at the screen again. “What is it then?”

      “I might have booked a flight to London this morning.”

      Harry lets out a disbelieving laugh. He puts his knife down and sets his hands on his hips. “You’re telling me now? After almost twenty minutes of talking? Lead with that next time, arsehole.”

      Zayn’s laughing on the other side of the Skype call. “ Arse hole? What’s next, you’re gonna start drinking tea with milk? And you’re not happy I’m coming to see you? I can still cancel it and go to Ibiza instead.”

      “No, of course I’m happy,” Harry finally smiles. “And I’d never drink that, stop it. When’s your flight?”

      “In two weeks, Friday the 26th. It lands in the morning.”

      “Great. I’ll take the day off so we can do nothing but fuck for three days straight.”

      “Thanks for the honesty, baby.”

      Harry flashes Zayn his best smile, all teeth and dimples on display. Then he turns around from the kitchen island and starts preparing his stove. “How long are you gonna stay?” he shouts at the laptop behind his back.

      “Two weeks,” comes from the laptop.

       Harry looks over his shoulder, gasping theatrically. “Two whole weeks? You better not forget the handcuffs at home.”

      Zayn raises his eyebrows. “I’m not gonna spend the two weeks fucking inside your apartment.”

      “We’ll be making love, baby,” Harry says as he turns back to the island. “But fine, you win. We’ll go outside. I have a serious addiction to those eclairs from that bakery around the corner. I wouldn’t survive without them for two weeks. We have to go there together, you’ll love it. Oh, and that bar, I can’t remember its name right now but it’s sick, it looks straight out of the 19th century. Original wood panelling and all. The building will be pure architectural porn for you. By the way, how is that project for that building on 44th coming along?”

      “Glad to hear I won’t be your sex slave for the duration of my stay. And it’s okay, I guess. The clients liked the sketches so far. It’s nowhere near the 3D model stage but we’ll get there.”

     Harry chuckles, shaking his head at himself as he gathers his vegetables on the cutting board.

      “What?” Zayn asks from half a world away.

      “I almost asked you if you wanted broccoli in this too and then I remembered you’re not actually here.”

      “Aw baby, that’s so sweet,” Zayn coos at him.

      Harry hides his reddened cheeks by turning to the stove. “It’s not sweet! Technology is taking over our lives. It’s driving me insane.”

      “Okay, we can start sending each other handwritten letters from now on.”

      Harry looks at the screen with an unimpressed face. “I actually hate you.”

      It’s truly almost as if Zayn was right there, sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, teasing Harry and taking pieces of food from the cutting board and not six hours away in New York, hanging out in their apartment, ignoring work like they always used to on Sundays. Harry finishes his dinner with Zayn in the background, talking about their friends and jobs, bickering and laughing like they normally would. Cooking for one isn’t depressing when it’s done this way. To save his figure, Harry might start making a habit of this.

###

      They don’t spend the first three days of Zayn’s stay in London fucking. But Harry does take the Friday off.

      Harry picks Zayn up at the airport shortly before seven AM. He wanted to get one of those signs, the one with the name of the person you’re waiting for, but frankly, iťs unnecessary because A.) it’d just be in the way when Harry turned into a human koala and attached himself to Zayn the second he saw him, and B.) he didn’t have any supplies to make a sign at home. In hindsight, it’s truly for the best.

      They have another “cheesy rom-com airport scene” moment, this time at the Heathrow. Harry flings himself at Zayn the moment they’re at touching distance, kissing him before either of them says a word. Then, embarrassingly enough, Harry starts kissing Zayn’s entire face while whispering “I missed you” and its variations all over again while Zayn laughs and begs Harry to let him go because he can’t breathe.

      Harry wraps him up in a hug then, clutching Zayn so tight as if he feared he’d just rise up into the air and float back to New York. It’s impossible for Harry not to bury his face in Zayn’s neck for approximately five minutes. (“Are you sniffing me, Haz?” Zayn asks. “Yes.” Harry answers plainly because he has no shame.)

      Sex happens almost as soon as they walk into Harry’s apartment. Thanks to Zayn’s almost inhuman ability to sleep on planes, a jet lag isn’t standing in their way to finally get laid. It’s a miracle they make it to the bedroom and not tear into each other like animals in the hallway.

      The funny thing is, Harry had all kinds of jokes prepared for their reunion, things they always tease each other about. But when Zayn was finally next to him and not just on a screen projecting him from half a world away, Harry couldn’t find any other words than hushed I-love-you’s and I-miss-you’s . They whispered sweet words and promises into skin and lips, undressed each other slowly like unwrapping a fancy present, held onto one another lovingly but strongly enough to leave bruises.

      Later that day, after they had cooked some simple pasta bake together and ended up cuddling on the couch while watching some trashy TV, Harry realized how much he missed just simply living with Zayn. It’s like even food tastes better when you’re sharing it with someone you love. He didn’t think he’d miss something as insignificant as the way Zayn plays with his hair when they’re watching something together. Sure he missed sex but he missed touching Zayn more, touching in the most innocent, non-sexual sense.

      Harry thinks about how fucking terrible will saying goodbye to Zayn again for who knows how many months be as they’re holding each other on the couch.

      “I don’t want to be not touching you for more than five minutes these two weeks,” Harry whispers.

      Zayn just strokes his back in agreement.

###

      Magazines often come up with all sort of bullshit. Especially those catered to women or men seeking lifestyle advice. Harry remembers reading an article in one of those kind of magazines once in his dentist’s office while waiting, maybe it was a Cosmopolitan, about what defines the act of cheating. There were mentions of kissing, just a peck and french kissing, of oral sex and handjobs. One sentence stuck in his mind for a long time: The worst kind of cheating, the one that counts and hurts the most, is when feelings are involved. Cosmo also said that anything more than a peck on the lips can be classified as cheating. On the other hand, Samantha in the second Sex and the City movie said kisses don’t count so which piece of pop culture is right?

      According to Cosmo, Harry cheated. Samantha Jones says he didn’t.

      Eight months, a week and two days after he temporarily left New York and his boyfriend of four years, Harry kisses another man. It was a night out celebrating that deal with the Germans with some of his colleagues he would call friends if asked and Harry was drunk as fuck, not that it’s an excuse for what he did.

      He approached Harry, not the other way. In the darkness of the bar, Harry couldn’t even see his face properly. All he remembers about the guy is his deep voice and how his breath tickled Harry’s ear when he was whispering filthy things to him. Looking back at it, Harry’s not even sure how or why they ended up in the hallway leading up to the toilets. They kissed for a few minutes before Harry’s inebriated brain realized that the man whose tongue was in his mouth wasn’t his long-term boyfriend. He left the guy in the hallway, ran out to the sidewalk in front of the bar and threw up on the ground. Ironically enough, Harry doesn’t even know the guy’s name.

      Harry felt like he was in a trance. The whole ride home in a cab he has no idea how he hailed is murky, so is him getting to bed.

      Following morning, Harry feels like shit due to his hangover. Shortly after throwing up again, he remembers what he did last night.

      It’s something Harry never thought he would do, cheat. His dick didn’t need to be touched for this to count as a betrayal of trust. The jagged memories come back to him as he sits on the couch in his living room with those fucking floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking water and crying. Why is he even crying? He’s a fucking piece of shit for what he did, he’s in no place to pity himself.

      As the tears travel down Harry’s face all the way to his t-shirt’s neckline, Harry tries to imagine how he’s going to tell Zayn. The idea to keep it a secret flashed through his mind but he can’t actually lie to the man he loves more than anything about his own shitty behavior. If Zayn breaks up with him over this, which he might as well will, Harry won’t even be surprised. Their relationship has always been built on trust and honestly, and not kissing strangers while drunk in a bar behind the other’s back. Yes, Harry was sexually frustrated because he hasn’t had sex in five months. Yes, he was horny that night. But neither of these things are a valid reason to go behind his boyfriend’s back and make out with a stranger.

      The worst thing about it all is the fact that Zayn’s coming to London in four days. Harry’s silent tears turn into sobs with the realization he’s going to have to face his boyfriend, smile at him and kiss him before ultimately telling him he cheated. He won’t do it over the phone or Skype. There’s not a chance in the universe. Harry knows Zayn too well to do that because he’s sure Zayn would immediately cancel his flight, throw out all of Harry’s things from their apartment and never talk to Harry ever again. He needs to fix this, he won’t let all the years they’ve had together just go to waste. He refuses to lose the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with over a stupid kiss with someone whose name Harry doesn’t even know.

      Harry sulks around his apartment for the rest of the weekend. He avoids Skyping Zayn with a cheap excuse of “too much work and a terrible cold” because he would start bawling the second he saw Zayn’s face, confessing to his infidelity instantly. That’s exactly what he’s trying to avoid. Zayn, being the loving and warm human he is, wishes Harry to get well soon and sends him a video compilation of kittens because he knows when Harry’s delirious with fever, he always resorts to that corner of Youtube.

      The guilt is eating Harry up, his throat always too tight with the threat of fresh tears. He probably goes to all five stages of grief before Monday morning, even though his relationship isn’t necessarily doomed. The morning the spent sobbing and fighting his hangover on the couch was the first stage - denial and isolation. Then the second stage - aggression, came in the form of working out in the building’s gym downstairs until he sweated through his shirt and threw up again. Next one was bargaining, where he called his sister and basically forced her to say that Zayn won’t break up with him when Harry tells him about it. Stage four- depression, consisted of him cleaning his apartment while listening to a 90’s love songs playlist on Spotify, drinking red wine and crying. And the last one, acceptance, might as well have been called ‘torture’ because Harry spent two hours going through the album on his phone simply named “Us” with three sparkling heart emojis. It was two hours of almost all the pictures he and Zayn have taken together over the more than four years of their relationship.There were selfies in bed where they were naked but also presentable photos from holidays and just amazing days that will stay in their memory forever, that have found their place on their Instagrams, Facebooks and old school photo albums as well. The videos were arguably the worst of the bunch. With those, Harry truly felt like he was throwing a funeral for his relationship.

      On Tuesday night, the morning before Zayn’s supposed to come to London, Harry’s so anxious he can’t sit still the whole evening. He goes out for a run, hoping the expended energy will help him calm down and maybe fall asleep. Instead, he caves in and buys a pack of cigarettes in a newsstand, even though he hasn’t smoked more than the occasional joint for about five years. He makes it through six cigarettes, chain smoking them by the Thames, before his lungs and throat burn and he has to take a taxi instead of jogging back to his apartment.

      At around 8PM, Harry gets a text from Zayn saying “ My flight was delayed. I’m gonna be in London at 10AM, hopefully. Leave me the key to your place somewhere, I’ll take a taxi. See you after you get back from work. Love you xx”. In that moment, Harry doesn’t know if it’s some divine being looking out for him, or the devil personally trying to make his life a living hell. He also realizes that due to the past few days of him trying to avoid Zayn, they’ve never talked about Harry coming to pick Zayn up from the airport like he did last time. It’s just another thing to pile on in the “ Harry’s an asshole to his boyfriend” case . Harry replies “ It’ll be under the doormat. Can’t wait to see you xxxxx.”. His stomach turns over his pretense like everything is okay. He smokes two more cigarettes before falling asleep at 2AM.

      The following morning, Harry’s early to work for the first time in his life. After waking up just before six in the morning, there wasn’t a chance he’d fall asleep again so he got dressed, stopped at Starbucks and went to work. He turns on the computer in his office at exactly 7:39, almost an hour before he usually gets there. His secretary nearly drops the folders she’s carrying when she sees him there a few minutes later.

      “Jesus Christ, you scared me, sir,” she says breathlessly.

      Harry attempts a smile. “Do I look that bad, Emily?”

      “Well, you do look a little down in the dumps. Is everything okay? I might have a concealer in my desk. Might not be the best match but it does fight a fair fight with under eye circles,” Emily rambles while putting the folders on Harry’s desk and organizing them. Harry’s got used to her honesty over the past few months. She’s terribly outspoken for someone who still calls him “sir” even after Harry telling her a million times to address him by his first name.

      “The question should be: is anything okay?, if I’m being honest,” Harry sighs and opens the top folder from the pile on his desk that’s surely only going to grow bigger today.

      “Oh, why is that?” Emily asks as she sits down on the chair in front of Harry’s desk. “Wasn’t your family supposed to fly in this week?”

      “My boyfriend. His plane lands in like three hours,” Harry says, trying to read the lines on the paper that he’s scared are gonna get blurry with his tears soon if he doesn’t stop thinking about said boyfriend, who might be an ex-boyfriend in very near future.

      “But that’s wonderful, isn’t it? You haven’t seen each other in months. Are you going to pick him up later? Is that why you came in early today, sir?”

      Harry chuckles wetly and shakes his head. “I’m not picking him up.”

      “Sir, are you crying? What happened?” Emily swiftly locates a box of tissues and pushes it into Harry’s hands. Harry takes a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay but the exact opposite happens when his exhale turns into a sob. Great, if anyone walks in right now it’s gonna be just fucking perfect. He can already hear the talk about him if that happens. “Did you see the boss bawling his eyes out this morning? In his fucking office?”. What a lovely sight for his co-workers.

      “How old are you, Emily?” Harry asks after blowing his nose, tears still leaking from his eyes. He’s apparently an old man now.

      “I’m twenty-two, sir. Why?”

      “Well, I’m thirty-four and I’m going to give you a little piece of “old people” wisdom - don’t fall in love. Because everything’s gonna go to shit one way or another,” Harry says quickly. This is the last thing that would flash his mind as a possibility of happening sometime in his life, crying to his secretary over his potentially ruined relationship. But shit happens, doesn’t it? Well, this is Harry’s shit, a big fucking pile of it.

      “That can’t be true,” Emily says, a sympathetic smile on her face.

      Harry laughs bitterly. “It unfortunately is. As you know, I have a boyfriend in New York. Well, he’s somewhere above Europe right now but you know what I mean. We’ve been together for almost five years now. And he’s wonderful, he truly is. Like, this whole long-distance thing? I was expecting a fight and a break for while I was gone. And you know what he did?”

     Emily shakes her head. “No, sir.”

     “After I had told him, he hugged and me told me how proud of me he was and that we’re going to make it work, even with an ocean between us. Not once have we fought about it. Not once. And I love him so much, not just because of it but for every little thing. But I fucked it up. I fucked everything up because this Friday, I cheated on him.”

      Emily’s eyes go wide in shock. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”

      Harry sighs, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. “You don’t need to say anything. I know what an asshole I am. Well, I didn’t completely cheat. I kissed some random guy while drunk in a bar and then threw up on the sidewalk. But I have to tell Zayn. That’s- that’s my boyfriend. And if I know him at all, he’s going to leave my sorry ass and I don’t know how to fix this. I want to . I just don’t know how.”

      The silence in the room makes Harry’s skin crawl. Great, now his secretary that will have to see him every single week day for a few more months will think he’s a piece of shit. She’s probably going to start spitting in his coffee. No, Emily wouldn’t actually do that. It doesn’t mean Harry’s not certain he deserves it.

      “Sir? Can I give you some advice?”

      Harry lowers his eyes from the ceiling, abandoning his depressive daydreaming and looks at Emily. She’s smiling at him, in the way you smile at a stray cat you want to lure in and pet.

      “Go on, Emily. I’m open to any suggestions, to be honest,” Harry sighs pathetically. At least he hasn’t finished his coffee. If he reached for the cup and found it empty, he’d truly start crying again.

      “I think you should go wait for you boyfriend at the airport, sir.” Harry scoffs at Emily’s words but before he has the chance to oppose that idea, Emily begins talking again. “You need to show him that you care about him, sir. If I were in your boyfriend’s shoes and my boyfriend didn’t pick me up at the airport after not seeing each other for months, and then he’d tell me that he snogged a different girl, I’d break up with him because I would just think he didn’t care anymore. Of course, I don’t know your boyfriend, sir, he doesn’t have to react like this. But I reckon you will have a better chance at saving your relationship if you start working on it from the beginning.”

      Harry’s speechless. His jaw slack, mouth left hanging in a wordless “O”, he just stares at Emily while the floor seems to fall from under his feet. She’s right. She’s fucking right. How didn’t he think of that? Of course it would seem like Harry didn’t care about their relationship. Leaving Zayn a key to his plane under the doormat, Jesus fucking Christ, what was Harry thinking?

      Emily blushes, looking down at her hands. “Of course, you don’t have to do that. I don’t-”

      “Thank you, Emily,” Harry interrupts her. “This was some of the best relationship advice I’ve ever got. Thank you, honestly.”

      “Oh,” she says, blushing ever pinker. “You’re welcome, sir.”

      “Do I have anything important for today?”

      Emily shakes her head. “No, sir. You cleared your schedule for today about a week ago.”

      “Thank you, past me. Could you please call me a car, Emily?” Harry asks as he puts his coat on.

      Emily stands up, nodding. “Of course, sir.”

      “Take the day off, you deserve it,” Harry calls after her as he’s nearly running out of his office. Now, he has the whole car ride to Heathrow to come up with a way to keep himself from telling Zayn how he fucked up the second they lay eyes on each other.

###

      Harry spends more than an hour walking around the Heathrow airport like a hungry lion in a cage. His ride there didn’t provide him with any useful idea. Maybe super-glueing his mouth shut might work. It seems like the only viable solution so far.

      He dreads telling Zayn such a damning thing, one that is surely going to destabilize their whole relationship like a bomb going off at the foundation of a house. It’d be only so much worse than it’s already going to be, if Harry let the words slip out of his mouth before even saying a simple hello. The arrivals at an airport aren’t supposed to be a sad, depressing place. They’re supposed to be full of happiness. Families seeing each other after a long time, friends reuniting for an adventure, travellers getting a taste of a new place for the first time. All those videos of children seeing their parents who are soldiers get back home from missions, that’s the exact happiness and joy that should be in those places. There’s a reason why no compilations of cheaters telling their spouses about their infidelity exist.

      The time Harry spends waiting around isn’t very well spent. Firstly, he smokes outside, a cigarette he bummed off of a stranger who was smoking by a trash can. Then he gets mints, chewing gum and a strong black coffee. He walks around, mostly. Too antsy to sit and do nothing or mess around on his phone, Harry probably annoys all the people around him. The security give him a few weird looks, since he’s there with no luggage or a sign, dressed in a suit and a coat, pacing around the airport with pale face. When the arrival of Zayn’s plane is announced, Harry feels like throwing up.

      He knows the first few moments of seeing Zayn again will be great. Maybe the euphoria and the rush of serotonin in his brain will make Harry forget for a hot minute what he did. No matter what, the ugly truth will have to come out. There’s no other way because Harry won’t lie to Zayn. Even if he tried to, the guilt would’ve been too much to handle. He’d be acting weird, evading questions, smiling like a serial killer and Zayn knows him too well not to notice all that. Harry doesn’t have any other options other than coming clean about everything.

      Harry feels like his eyes can’t focus on anything when he’s situated somewhere between families with or without signs and other people just waiting for the rush of bodies getting out of the plane. The constant chatter around him is almost enough to cause him a headache. His heart is pounding like he had just ran a marathon.

      When Harry finally sees Zayn in person after five months, it’s like everything else just goes out of focus. The chatter quiets down like someone simply turned the volume down. His vision seems to pick up only Zayn’s figure, creating this tunnel vision and at the end is Zayn walking with his carry on bag with his eyes looking down at the phone in his hand. Harry doesn’t know when he sends the signals to his brain but before he can think a single solid thought, he’s walking towards, cutting through the people hugging and talking and crying, and wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders before he has the chance to look up from his phone.

      “Baby,” Zayn breathes out into Harry’s ear. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

      Harry doesn’t respond, he can’t respond. His throat tight with incoming tears, his vision already blurry, Harry just pulls Zayn closer, so close as if he was trying to stick their bodies together like clay and make one cohesive being.

      He feels the first tear slide down his cheek when Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s waist. They turn into silent silent sobs, full of guilt over his unfaithfulness and relief that he’s touching Zayn again after so long. It’s hard for him to think that this may be a thing of the past in just a few hours. That he won’t be able to pull Zayn into an embrace, have their bodies so close to each other, whether clothed or naked. This might be their bitter goodbye and they don’t even know.

      “Haz, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

      Harry’s sobs just intensify with Zayn’s words. He can feel Zayn’s hand rubbing over his spine, this repetitive motion that would usually be calming but now wants to make Harry run away like a scared cat. He manages to whisper a “No.”, because what else is he supposed to say? That he’s crying like a child throwing a tantrum because of his own infidelity? He doesn’t want to start out with that.

      It’s a moment before Harry calms down and leaves a kiss on the side of Zayn’s throat. “I missed you so fucking much,” he whispers.

      “I missed you too, babe. But I’m here now, we can be together for a while and just forget everything else. We should probably go too.”

      Harry pulls away, keeping his hands on Zayn’s shoulder. He feels like a fraud when upon seeing Zayn’s tired smile, he forces a bright one on his face.

      “I love you. So, so, so fucking much,” Harry says, his voice weak and bottom lip trembling.

      Zayn’s smile widens, his eyes looking over Harry’s tear-stained face. He presses a kiss into the corner of Harry’s mouth, his hand warm on Harry’s left cheek. “I love you too. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t cry like that often, babe.”

      Harry takes a shaky breath, covering it by smiling and leaving a kiss on the inside of Zayn’s wrist. “Yes, I’m fine,” he lies. “Just missed you a lot.”

      “If you say so, babe,” Zayn says and Harry doesn’t question whether he trusts the truth of the words or not.

      “Let’s get the luggage and get out of here,” Harry offers, wiping his cheeks quickly before taking Zayn’s hand in his own clammy one.

      “Oh, I just have my hold-all this time.” Harry turns to Zayn with a surprised look. “What? I’m here for a week. And you know I’m gonna be stealing your clothes.”

      “Or you were just too lazy to pack properly,” Harry adds as they’re already walking towards the exit.

       “How about busy? I don’t have the time to spend hours packing for a week long trip to see my boyfriend that has like a whole wardrobe there. The last time I visited, we weren’t doing much exploring of the city either way.”

       Harry scoffs, dodging a tourist taking a picture outside of the exit door. “You said that you didn’t need me to take you to the London Eye and other sights because you’ve been to London before so we stayed in most afternoons and nights.”

      “True,” Zayn admits. “But that didn’t mean we had to stay in and watch trashy British television. What was that thing, Love Island? I swear I lost brain cells watching that.”

      Harry rolls his eyes as he pulls Zayn towards the car waiting for him. “Get in, you whiny baby. We were fucking or close to fucking on that couch every single time we had the TV on.”

      “Are you trying to kidnap me?”

      “Of course. I joined the mafia here.”

      Zayn gets in the car with a laugh, but not before making a remark about what a shitty mobster Harry would make. Harry walks around the car, hesitating a moment before opening the door. Maybe he can do it, not telling Zayn about the kiss. Maybe he can keep their relationship as it is, with easy conversation and inside jokes and playful teasing. Maybe nothing has to change and this acidic pain inside of Harry’s chest will disappear with time.

      Harry falls down on the seat with a deep breath, telling the drive the address quickly before leaning his head down on Zayn’s shoulder. Sometimes it’s good to have a long ass torso.

      “You know,” Zayn says after pecking the top of Harry’s head. “For a business man, you would truly make a horrible mobster.”

      “Oh, would I now?” Harry teases because silly conversation that are interrupted with kisses is better than overthinking the things that have been pestering his mind for days.

      “Yes, you would. The guys you work with are usually assholes, so are mobsters but you? You’re as sweet as a pie. Don’t even attempt to try refuting it. You know it’s true. And I’m convinced you’re good at your job just because you’re too charming and a control freak.”

      Harry smiles, closing his eyes. “So I charm my way into business deals?”

     “Well, you charmed your way into my pants a few years ago and I’d say it was a pretty intense experience.”

      “I love you,” Harry says then, completely off topic but he doesn’t care. This might be one of the last moments he says it and Zayn says it back. If he decided to admit what he did. “I love you so fucking much. Please, just remember that, always. No matter what happens.”

      “I love you too, baby,” Zayn voices the same sentiment. “Did something happen?”

      “I’m just… emotional,” Harry evades the question. “I missed you and now you’re finally here again. It feels good to be touching you and not just looking at you on my laptop or phone screen.”

      All of it is true. It’s just not the real reason behind Harry’s behavior.

      “I missed you too,” Zayn whispers into Harry’s hair before kissing it again. “It’s so lonely in our apartment without you. The bed feels empty. There’s no singing coming from the bathroom in the morning. You’re not there to organize dinner parties all the time. The whole place just feels… kinda cold without you.”

      Harry chooses silence then. He blindly searches for Zayn’s left hand, grabbing it when he finds it and clutching it to his chest. The touch is a reassurance of love, of years long devotion. If the simple notion of skin on skin, of their hands intertwined close to Harry’s heart could communicate how sorry Harry his, how much he regrets putting the love they have on an executioner’s block and waiting for a strike of luck to keep the sword from plummeting down, Harry would be elated. Words can only do so much. An apology means essentially nothing if the actions don’t change. Even then, words can betray you. The choice of one bad word or even the sequence of sentences might render your entire apology futile.

      The silence stays with them for the majority of the ride. They’re always touching though. Harry’s head on Zayn’s shoulder, their hands clutched together, a fleeting kiss here or there. The easiness of simply existing together is palpable, the familiarity of it wrapping around Harry’s heart like a noose around his neck. He could forget they’re in London, instead they could be sitting in the back of a cab in New York, enjoying the long drive home after a night out, seemingly endless in the city’s traffic.

      They start kissing seconds after getting inside Harry’s apartment. Zayn’s bag falls to the floor by the door and their lips are connected right away. It’s all tongue and teeth, too rushed as the build-up of passion from the course of five months of them not touching rises up and takes over. Hands grips any part of their bodies they could find and their coats find their way on the floor shortly after. Breathless whispers of I-love-you’s are the only sounds in the apartment, along with the wet sounds of their mouths colliding and their laboured breathing.

      It all goes to shit when Zayn pushes Harry against a wall and starts kissing down his neck. Harry’s eyes fly open, his mind suddenly flooded with the memories of Friday night and the stranger who kissed him so similarly to how his own fucking boyfriend is kissing him right now. Harry takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes forcefully as if it could wipe his memory clean off of every second of that night. It only makes it worse, the imagines of dim bar lights and cheesy posters in the bathroom hallway so clear as if they were being projected on his eyelids like a terrible horror movie.

      “Stop,” Harry chokes out, his chest so heavy with guilt he feels like there’s no air in the room. Zayn pulls away, searching Harry’s face with clear questioning eyes. His lips are lightly swollen, red from kissing, his hands still a warm weight on Harry’s hips. Harry’s eyes find the floor then, unable to look into Zayn’s face for the admission. “I can’t kiss you and pretend like nothing happened. I- I cheated on you.”

      The words bring defeating silence. Harry shuts his eyes when his vision starts to get cloudy with tear. He feels how Zayn’s hands leave his hips. The silence is then interrupted with the sound of Zayn’s footsteps getting further away from Harry.

      “When did this happen?”

      Harry opens his eyes, lifting his head up to look at Zayn. He’s standing in the kitchen part of the room, leaning against the island with his arms crossed over his chest. His face is blank, maybe a shred of disappointment and betrayal giving a sheen to his expression. Maybe it’s heartbreak.

      “On Friday,” Harry answers, his voice raspy. The tears start making an appearance.

      Zayn nods softly, looking at the floor instead of Harry’s face. “So you avoided telling me. You weren’t sick. Nor were you busy.”

      “No,” Harry says quietly. He desperately wants to lift his back off of the wall and walk to Zayn. Touch him and beg him for forgiveness, explain himself with hope it might save everything but he can’t. He’s too numb to do anything else than stare, his arms hanging limpy by his sides and tears streaming slowing down his neck, seeping into the collar of his shirt.

      “Who was it?” Zayn asks, his cold stare on Harry again. It almost makes Harry shudder. He hasn’t been at the receiving end of that stare before. Harry always got the warm side of Zayn, all smiles and fleeting touches, like his own personal sun. Even when they fought, it was mostly over stupid shit and this hurt, defensive side of Zayn never showed up. This time Harry didn’t spill coffee and accidentally throw out Zayn’s sketches, this time he broke his heart.

      “I don’t know,” Harry replies honestly. “I don’t know the guy’s name. I was drunk and we just started making out in a bar.”

      “So you fucked someone without knowing their name?”

      “I didn’t fuck anyone,” Harry defends.

      “Oh, okay,” Zayn raises his eyebrows sarcastically. “Someone, whose name you don’t know, fucked you. Of course. Maybe I should be glad this wasn’t like, an affair with feelings but it doesn’t make much difference, to be honest.”

      “I didn’t have sex with anyone!” Harry yells, everything around him blurry with tears. “I kissed a stranger in a bar! That’s it! I was almost black out drunk, I was sexually frustrated and I missed you so when a guy started… whispering some dirty shit in my ear, I fell for it for some reason. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve felt like shit ever since it happened and I dreaded seeing you because I know this hurt you. I know I fucked up, okay? And you can break up with me if you want to but please, I’m begging you, don’t it. I love you more than anything in the world and I regret it so much. It was one of my worst mistakes, if not the worst. Please, just… give me a chance to fix this.”

      Harry’s breathing is heavy as he finishes. Exhausted by tears and shouting, Harry just stares at Zayn, hoping he won’t just pick up his bag and leave. Zayn’s face is unreadable. He doesn’t look as angry anymore, but there isn’t any wetness collecting at the edges of his eyes either. The coldness has melted a bit, perhaps the new knowledge about Harry’s unfaithfulness shedding a different light on the situation. Harry prays everything isn’t lost. There must be a way to pick the pieces up and glue them together.

      “This isn’t an excuse for what you did,” Zayn says quietly, no malice in his voice.

      Harry scoffs bleakly, turning his gaze back on the floor. “I know.”

      “I was kind of expecting it, though,” Zayn admits. Harry looks at him with a horrified look in his eyes. “I did trust you, trusted myself not to do it but shit happens, doesn’t it?” Zayn’s inquesting gaze throws Harry off kilter. “I’m hurt by what you did, even if it was just a kiss. It still happened. That trust I had in you was broken and the crack is always going to be there, no matter how much time and effort we spend on patching it up. At the same time, I won’t be that guy who leaves someone he loves over a drunken kiss.”

      Harry lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It comes out more as a laugh of disbelief. He saw the ruins of his relationships, that bomb at the foundation going off in full strength. It turns out the foundation might’ve been sturdier than he had thought. Or the bomb was weaker.

      “I still love you, Harry,” Zayn continues. “Even if you kissed a stranger. I don’t want us to break up over it. It’s clear that you regret it. Or you have a secret acting talent but I don’t believe that since you can’t lie to save your life. I won’t trust you like I did before this for a long time, probably. But I want to fix this too.”

      Harry, fed up with this conversation from across the room, walks to Zayn quickly but approaching him warily like a forest animal. When he touches Zayn’s shoulder and he doesn’t tense up, recoiling away from his hand, Harry drapes himself over him, embracing Zayn in a hug so tight as if it could mend the cracks in their relationship together. “I love you,” he whispers into Zayn’s shoulder. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m gonna say sorry every single day. I’ll honestly never look at another man again, I don’t care. I’ll do anything to prove that I love you, only you, and that I don’t want our relationship to fall apart.”

      Zayn has one arm limply wrapped around Harry’s waist. No rubbing his spine from earlier, no kisses anywhere. But he hasn’t pushed him away so it’s a start. It’s something.

       “Can you… can you leave me alone for a bit?”

       Zayn’s words have the same effect on Harry’s as scalding water. He staggers back, putting at least three feet between them.

      “I just,” Zayn sighs. “I can’t act like everything’s fine and just kiss you and have sex with you right away. I can’t. I want us to fix this, not pretend like it never happened.  And I’m tired as hell, I barely slept on the plane because there was a lot of turbulence. So like, if you don’t mind, could I just take a nap in the bedroom? Then we can figure out how to put this whole thing behind us I guess.”

      Harry nods ferociously. “Yeah, of course, go ahead. I’ll just… I’ll be here on the couch, working probably.”

      “Okay,” Zayn says, looking away from Harry. After a brief moment of awkward strained silence, Zayn leaves without any more words.

###

       Harry sits on his couch with his laptop open, pretending to be reading his emails for the next few hours. A mix of relief and worry tainting his thoughts, guilt still heavy in his chest, he struggles to actually focus on anything. The uncertainty of everything is driving him restless, anxiously typing away emails on his keyboard he knows will end up in the drafts folder. He gives up eventually, turning the TV on, leaving it on the news channel and ultimately falling asleep in his dress pants and rolled up shirt.

       He wakes up to a hand on his cheek, a thumb slowly stroking his cheekbone. It’s like a dream at first, when he opens his eyes and sees Zayn, smiling at him softly. His hair is damp and he’s wearing an old t-shirt Harry’s sure was on his bedroom floor and also sweatpants that he’s certain are his. He’s sitting on the side of the couch, so close Harry can feel his body heat.

      “Babe, you’re still here,” Harry rasps, his voice scratchy.

      “Of course I’m here,” Zayn says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

      Harry sits up then, yawning, still groggy with sleep. “What do you wanna do now?”

      “How about a dinner out once Sleeping Beauty properly wakes up?”

      Upon seeing Zayn’s honest smile, Harry’s can’t contain his own. Teasing, that’s a good start. “Sure. Where do you wanna go? Do you want something local? Or sushi? Italian? I know this one great Thai place too.”

       “I don’t care, you pick. I’m hungry enough not to complain about food. But not beets. Or vegetable replacements for meat or gluten.”

      “No, you tell me. Please pick something.”

      “Harry,” Zayn says resolutely, his gaze set firmy on Harry’s eyes. “I’m not gonna break up with you over not agreeing on where we go out for dinner. Stop acting like this, it’s so outlandish for you. Just stop, babe, please. If I wanted to leave you, I would have ended our relationship the second those words left your mouth. Now, please pick a place you like. I wanna see some little parts of your life here. And just… keep up the sense of familiarity and normalcy. We’re never gonna get back to where we were if we turn our relationship into a some sort of a convent for you where you will repent your sins or whatever.”

      Harry’s cheeks burn up, but he nods, trying to cover everything with a smile and teasing. “Fine. We’re getting burgers. And if your pretentious Californian ass complains about how In-n-Out is better, we’ll be eating out only at vegan restaurants until you leave.”

      A weight falls off of Harry’s heart when Zayn laughs. “I swear I won’t complain, babe.”

     The fleeting kiss Zayn leaves on Harry’s lips then is a shock. Harry’s dumbfounded for a moment, just staring at Zayn with a blank face and limp jaw until Zayn gently smacks his cheek and stands up, already walking back towards the bedroom. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty, don’t let your prince starve.”

      Harry sits there, chuckling pathetically over the whole situation. He needs to start fixing their relationship too, since it seems like Zayn is actively doing it. Harry was the one to fuck up in the first place, he can’t fuck up the fixing up too. But he’s gonna make it up to Zayn, prove that he’s not a cheater and an awful boyfriend, he swears it. All without turning their relationship into a convent.

###

      The dinner is good. Even with the remnants of that bomb going off in the air, they talk and laugh like they always do. At the same time it’s a stark opposite of Zayn’s last visit when they couldn’t stop touching each other. Even when they went out then, they were touching in some way. Now, they sit across from each other. They hold hands only when already going home, when their minds are softened with some wine. A bright moment is the few soft kisses they share in the darkness of the bedroom that night, another win the fact that they sleep in the same bed.

      It’s discernible that things aren’t completely okay between them with everything they do. Harry recklessly decides to leave work at noon every day until Zayn leaves again, in the hope that spending more time together will shape their relationship back to normal. He tries so hard to make it look like everything’s fine even when he can see the cracks. Not having sex. Never kissing for too long. Gaps in their conversations, created by the soreness of Harry’s cheating. It’s still better than Harry thought it would be because they’re both trying to build up that trust again.

      They go see a musical on the West End on Thursday, meet up with some of Harry’s co-workers and their spouses for dinner and drinks on Friday. The weekend is just for them and they walk around London, visit a cat café they pass while out and generally just lounge around the apartment. They fuck on Sunday afternoon, moving to bed after making out on the couch for an hour. It’s rough, full of passion and jealousy, all of it finally rising up to the surface. It’s so good Harry nearly cries as Zayn’s fucking into him, whispering about fucking Harry hard enough he forgets all about kissing someone else. The aftermath is even better, sweet kisses in bed and promises of trust and perhaps forever too. Needless to say, things seem to start shifting in place after that.

      They certainly make up for the lost time, staying up late and not really leaving the bedroom for the rest of Sunday. Even if their relationship isn’t whole again yet, they still missed this, missed having sex and touching each other all the time. To some extent, they’re surprised they lasted that long this week.

      Harry has a hard time leaving the bed on Monday morning, emotionally and physically. When his second meeting gets cancelled shortly after ending his first one, Harry calls Zayn and tells him to meet up for lunch at a place not far from Harry’s work. They visit the London Eye in the afternoon. Tuesday brings a sense of normalcy, because when Harry wakes up, Zayn is working on some designs on his laptop at the kitchen island, saying there was a last minute change that needed to be added.

      Wednesday is bittersweet. Harry takes the day off again and they spend the morning and the better part of the afternoon lost in each other, closed off from the world in the bedroom. Saying goodbye is depressing affair but they do it with smiles on their faces, happy to have had at least this much time together, even if it was all spoiled by their relationship fracturing and them trying to glue it back together. Zayn leaves with Harry’s promises of love, of always, always thinking of him echoing behind him.

###

      Harry’s plane touches down at JFK a year and three weeks after a different one took off and headed for London. He’s exhausted but he can’t wipe the smile off of his face, the one that appeared the second he saw New York again. It’s a bit surreal, being home again.

      Zayn’s waiting for him and Harry kisses him before either of them gets a word in. Then it’s a lot of hugging, hushed I-missed-you’s and I-love-you’s and kisses pressed into any skin they can get to.

      “Welcome home, baby,” Zayn says before kissing Harry on the lips again.

      Harry laughs into the kiss, pulling away slightly so he can look at him. “Thank you, babe. Finally here, right? The flight felt endless. As if some kind of a force wanted to keep me in the UK forever.”

      “Can’t let that happen. Oh, I wanted to tell you something.”

      Harry tenses up. “What?”

      “Nothing weird,” Zayn mutters, his hands running up and down Harry’s sides. “Just that most of your family and friends are in our apartment at the moment.”

      Harry’s mouth falls open with a silent gasp.

      “If you want to be mad, I wasn’t the only orchestrator so please divide your rage into two. You can thank your lovely sister Gemma for the idea that it will be a surprise party right after your plane lads. So please act surprised because she’s going to murder me and dump my body in the harbor if she finds out I told you.”

      “You know I can’t lie,” Harry laughs after the shock passes.

      “I know,” Zayn nods with a laugh. “But I felt bad about just springing on a whole party on you after an eight-hour flight.”

      “Aw, how thoughtful of you, baby,” Harry coos and smacks a wet kiss on Zayn’s cheek.

      “Okay, yeah, we should go.”

###

      Their relationship survived the last four months of Harry’s stay in London. They talked more, Skyped or Facetimed any chance they got. It was certainly a challenge to anchor back the trust in their relationship while having and five hours of time difference between them. There are still tiny cracks here and there, but with more honesty between them than even before, they’re being filled up slowly but surely. It’s on its way to being whole again, even stronger than it was before.

      After the welcoming party in their apartment, they sit on their couch in between all the mess and uneaten food, the “ Welcome home, Harry!” banner wonky on the wall. Harry hasn’t stopped smiling in hours.

      “Thank you,” Harry says quietly and twist his head to peck Zayn’s lips. “This was so cool. Seeing everyone in the same place at the same time, it was just… a bit overwhelming but it was truly coming home.”

      Zayn smiles and pulls Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders while Harry leans his head down. “I wasn’t the only one doing this but you’re welcome nonetheless. I still have one more surprise for you.”

      “Oh, please don’t tell me there’s a cat somewhere in the apartment. I told you I wanted to go to the shelter and pick it up together, no surprises.”

      “No, it’s not a cat. This is more… well, about just the two of us.”

       Harry lifts his head off of Zayn’s shoulder, twisting his neck to look at Zayn, his expression laced with confusion. “Should I be scared?”

      “Hopefully not.”

      “Spill it, c’mon. I hate waiting.”

      “Okay,” Zayn takes a deep breath, his eyes going down to his hand where his fingers are restless. “I was thinking, in the past few weeks, how you hate when someone calls their significant other ‘partner’.”

      “Yes, because-”

      “Yes, because it sounds like a business partner and you’ve got enough of those, I know. Okay, just hear me out now and don’t freak out?”

      “Zayn, you’re scaring me.”

      “Fine, I’ll make it quick. Basically, a few weeks ago I mentioned you to a friend from college I bumped into and I just had a moment where I went “ I’m thirty-five and I’m still talking about a boyfriend.” . It’s just- we’ve been together for over five years, we’re old as fuck so I figured, maybe it’s the time for us to drop the “boyfriend” label and not by breaking up.”

      Harry searches Zayn’s face in slight panic. “Is this what I think it is?”

      “Hold on, I haven’t finished,” Zayn laughs. “So, I was wondering what would you say about “fiancé” in the loosest sense of word?”

      “What does that mean exactly?” Harry asks suspiciously.

      “It means that I got you a ring, you’ll wear it, we can say we’re engaged but we don’t ever have to get married. That’s why I didn’t use those four so-called magical words.”

      Harry hesitates for a moment. “I mean, you’ve got a point. Every time I mentioned you to my secretary in London I felt like a fucking teenager. My boyfriend this, my boyfriend that. So yeah. I guess I’d like to call you my fiancé. Even if there was a wedding.”

      Zayn looks at him for a moment, mild disbelief on his face. “Wait, you’re serious?”

      “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Harry shrugs. “I guess I had a different opinion about all this when I wasn’t even thirty and we had just met. I still don’t like to make a spectacle over it but the idea of marriage isn’t that terrible to me after I’ve been in a relationship with the same person for over five years. Even if we get married, we’d do it just for us, not to start a family or try to make our relationship into something different. It’s still going to be us.”

      “That sounds weirdly romantic coming from your dirty mouth hardened by years of talking about numbers and negotiations.”

       Harry laughs but he can’t help himself and pulls Zayn into a kiss. “How’s my mouth now?” he whispers into his lips.

      “Better. But I think I need to try some more stuff.”

      “I want my ring first, please,” Harry turns his right hand palm up, grinning at Zayn like a kid begging for an extra cookie. Zayn reaches for the side table next to the couch, pulling out a small ring box out of the drawer. Inside of it was a simple white gold Cartier love ring.

      “I didn’t think you would want diamonds cause they’re too flashy and since I also didn’t think you’d even agree to this,” Zayn says. “And I also don’t think that’s how engagement rings are given.” He gently takes Harry’s left hand in his, ignoring his right hand and slipping the band on his ring finger. Harry looks at his hand, wiggling his fingers. It’s a sight he didn’t really expect to see, him wearing an engagement ring. He likes it.

      “I kinda want to go marry you tomorrow, is that weird?” Harry asks, his gaze still on his hand.

      Zayn laughs, grabbing Harry’s left hand and kissing the back of it. “Did that ring dig up a hidden side of you that’s really into marriage and family ideals? Because if you start talking about kids, I’m just telling you that I did not sign up for that.”

      “Oh god,” Harry cackles. “No! All the kids we’ll have will have four legs and a tail. Or not because I don’t mind adopting pets that are somehow disabled.”

      “Good,” Zayn smiles and kisses Harry again, just this short press of lips. “You know, after this shitshow we went through a few months ago, I felt like this could sort of commemorate it? That we stayed together, our relationship survived and it’s even stronger now, I think. It took a lot of work, building up that trust again but ever since you first admitted what happened, I knew I didn’t want to give up on us. It happened, it was a mistake but we’re here now and I’m even more in love with you than I was before.”

      Harry just smiles at him because there aren’t really any more words to say. He pulls Zayn into a drawn out kiss, whispering “I love you so much” after he pulls away.

      “You know what?” Harry asks with a wicked smile, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck.

       “What?” Zayn echoes, his arms snaking around Harry’s waist.

       “The idea of calling you my husband is really fucking hot,” Harry whispers, biting Zayn’s earlobe in emphasis.

       “You know what else is hot?” Zayn asks after kissing Harry’s neck.

       “What?”

       “Fucking on the dining table.”

       Harry pulls away with a laugh. “And you call yourself a romantic?”

       “‘Course, I do.”

       Needless to say, they do end up fucking on the dining table. They also end up getting married two weeks later without telling anyone. It’s quite a funny story when they explain it to everyone who asks them when they became husbands and why the hell they weren’t invited to the wedding. To be honest, they wouldn’t have it any other way.